Crux Lapis
by Mattwho81
Summary: When their allies call for aid the Storm Heralds find themselves pitched into deadly danger against an enemy they could never have expected to return. This story is a sequel to my previous story Fame Cimex
1. Chapter 1

**Crux Lapis Chapter 1**

 **996.M41**

Crux Lapis was not a beautiful world; it sat upon the star spackled cloth of space like a lump of coal in a field of diamonds. It was a small blackened rock, scorched by stellar winds and utterly bereft of atmosphere. The ugly planetoid was barely the size of a moon and its surface was pitted by asteroid impact craters and powdery dust seas. Across its northern hemisphere were two intersecting canyons, gouged by an ancient impact event and so large that they were visible from space. They formed a massive 'X' shape on the planetoid's face, giving rise to its title in Low Gothic 'The Crossed Stone.' This world was utterly unlovely and objectionable, yet that did not mean it was worthless. All over its surface rose black spikes, artificial constructions that stabbed into the empty sky like thorns on a sea urchin. These served a variety of functions, there were defence emplacements, void shield generators, vox and auspex arrays, thermal exhaust ports, refuse dumps and slag conveyors all arising from deep beneath the surface.

The planetoid also had a halo of moving stars, each one a hefty starship, orbiting this bleak world in teeming numbers. There were shoals of mass-conveyors and cargo ships constantly moving material to and from the surface, along with Forgevessels and defence cutters, passenger liners, diplomatic couriers and Explorator vessels. The variety and numbers of vessels was staggering, a plethora of shapes and sizes, yet they all had one thing in common: they all bore the skull and cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

For all its ugliness Crux Lapis was perhaps one of the most important worlds in the region, for it was a Forgeworld. This diminutive planetoid was a sovereign domain of the Tech-Priests and as such it was one of the few worlds in the galaxy that held fealty to Mars not Terra. It was odd therefore that that today one of the orbiting crafts was not of the Mechanicus, a brutal and slab-sided warship that stood out like a sore thumb. This vessel was a Strike Cruiser, a scarred veteran of the Adeptus Astartes, bearing the icons of the Storm Herald Chapter and the engraved name, Ticonderoga. The intruder sat among the drifting fleets untroubled and ignored, for it was neither an invader nor attacker: it had been invited here.

Dropping from the Ticonderoga were a flight of Thunderhawk gunships, diving down towards the surface, headed for an open and inviting airlock portal. The gunships flew in perfect formation, for the Mechanicus had calculated the exact amount of space needed for them and to drift out of their assigned corridor would be to invite being shot down, regardless of whom they were or who had invited them. Aboard the lead Thunderhawk twenty-seven Space Marines were strapped into their restraint cages. Among them was a Captain bearing the heraldry of Third Company, he had a glorious relic sword strapped to his hip and one glowing red augmetic implant where his right eye should be. His name was Toran and he was the leader of this expedition, Commander of all the Space Marines of Third Company.

Toran was looking around the bay, seeing his squads assembled and ready. With him were the tactical squads of Sergeants Mylos and Matheus, along with his Command Squad: Brothers Furion, Jediah, Persion, Bylan and Novak. There was also one other Brother present, clad in red and with a large servo arm over his shoulder: his name was Hevostan and he was of the order of Techmarines. The squads were chattering among themselves, discussing tactics and bantering about past glories and memorable kills. Toran encouraged comradery among his men and he let them have their moment of Brotherhood. However Toran spied his Company Champion, Novak craning his head to look out of the troop bay, through the pilot's window high above. Novak suddenly announced, "By the Throne, what an ugly bit of gristle, it looks like a burnt tuber!"

Furion sighed, his brutal Mark III armour barely fitting in its cage as he said, "This world belongs to the Tech-priests, did you expect them to care about aesthetics?"

Novak answered, "I was expecting wonders, the hidden tech-mysteries of the Mechanicus laid bare… not this eyesore."

From further down the bay Hevostan answered in surprisingly rich baritone, "There are sacred mysteries aplenty to be found here, but the Magi are not in the habit of leaving them out for anyone to see. The Forges themselves are below the surface, we must go deeper to find such wonders, much, much deeper."

Persion leaned over, his expanded communication rig bumping against his cage as he said, "You've been here before then?"

"Yes," Hevostan replied, "It was the first stop on my training pilgrimage, I thought it was impressive… until I reach Mars and I saw true wonders."

Toran asked in curiosity, "Crux Lapis is not considered an important outpost then?"

Hevostan answered, "By the standards of Mars… no. This is barely a Tertiary Minoris Forgeworld."

Furion said, "But it is a Forgeworld, the only one to be found in this part of the Saint Karyl Trail, which makes it invaluable."

There was a flash of light and then darkness cut off the sights outside as the Thunderhawk dived through the airlock and carried on travelling nose first down a long tunnel bored into the rock, sailing ever deeper through layers of stone. From his cage Bylan spoke up in the droning monotone of augmetic implants, "+Do you think we will see a Titan?+"

Hevostan answered, "Anything is possible, the Legio Astraman is based here."

"+Imagine that+" sighed Bylan, "+I would love to see a Titan, just once in my lifetime+"

Toran smirked and said, "Live long enough and I will make sure you will see plenty, so many you will get bored of them."

"Not bloody likely," Furion interjected, "Nobody ever gets bored of seeing Titans striding into war."

Suddenly Jediah said in a suspicious tone, "Am I the only one wondering why we are here, I mean a whole Battle Company pulled off the line simply because the Tech-Priests requested us for undisclosed reasons."

Toran answered, "The Tech-Priests are our valued allies, it is right and proper that we should answer their pleas."

Persion sounded unconvinced as he said, "Yes, but we would usually send a squad at most. A Battle Company is a significant fraction of the Chapter's strength, why would Chapter Master Gorgall send a hundred Astartes on such a mission?"

Furion answered that question, "Because our Chapter is hardly well regarded in the galaxy, we have many enemies in the corridors of power who would love to see us declared Excommunicate Traitoris. Yet the Mechanicus is the most powerful and influential all Imperial institutions, without their sanction the High Lords could not even move a single ship. We need to keep them on our side, so if they request the aid of a Battle Company, a Battle Company is what they shall get."

From further down the bay Mylos spoke up to say, "I hate to interrupt, but has anyone else noticed that we are flying at full speed and we are still diving?" Everybody turned to look out the sliver of sky visible and realised that he was right, despite long minutes of flying the Thunderhawk was still diving nose first into the tunnel.

Persion gasped and said, "By the Throne, how deep are these Forges?"

Hevostan sounded amused as he said, "Wait and see."

Suddenly the tunnel fell away and the Thunderhawk soared into an open sky, impossibly blue with a dull bulb of a sunset in the firmament. Toran hurriedly patched his augmetic eye into the Gunships' spirit and looked out of its pict-imagers, seeing rock faces spread out in every direction, literally every direction, left and right, upwards and sideways and above. The Thunderhawks were surrounded by rising walls on all sides, encapsulating them inside a vast globe the size of a moon.

Novak asked, "What do you see?"

Toran sounded utterly shocked as he replied, "Its hollow, the entire planetoid has been hollowed out. The Tech-Priests emptied the interior of an entire world!"

Hevostan snorted in amusement at the shock in his voice and explained, "Not exactly, what you are looking at is the inside of a Geode. A vacuum formed Geode with a crust of impure Adamantium and a crystalline interior. The Mechanicus long ago harvested the crystals, leaving the interior vacant for a Forgeworld to be built. The formation of such a natural structure makes for a fascinating study in zero-gravity dynamics."

Toran was lost in wonder as he said, "But the sky… the sun."

Hevostan explained, "Artificial illusions, wonders of forgotten Archeo-technology. The air is processed through atmosphere recyclers and there are even gravity generators set to Terran standard, we will be able to walk on the interior surface unimpeded."

Toran watched in awe as the Thunderhawks flew over the strange landscape, seeing the world curve up and around them in a perfect globe. Every surface was covered in belching manufactories, heavy machinery, and industrial lifters, an entire Forgeworld's worth of industry spread out over the inner surface and covering it in metal. The horizon was most disturbing, rising up where it should fall away and Toran was forced to keep his eyes down, to stop himself staring inanely at it. The gunships flew over strange and arcane machines, veritable armies of servitors going about their business and Red-robed magi performing inscrutable rituals. None of them seemed remotely interested in the Astartes' presence, not looking upwards nor deviating from their assigned tasks for a moment.

Eventually the Thunderhawks began to descend, heading towards a large Ferrocrete landing field that sat empty for them. They flew down at full speed, as if they were in an active warzone and came to a halt in a blast of downwash that snapped everybody's heads forwards. Before the ramps had even finished opening the Astartes were moving, grabbing bolters and piling out of the doors. They took up defensive positions with the ease of decades of practice, always on guard, even here amid allies. Toran strode out of his gunship and saw Third Company perfectly deployed, every angle covered, every bolter aimed and ready to fire. He marched forwards looking for a sign of welcome but found none, nothing but the distant rumble of constant industry. The landing field was bare and empty, nothing but basic half-man, half-machine servitors trundling around bearing cargo pallets and fuel bowsers.

As he watched several dozen servitors came trundling up to the gunships, dead eyes staring blankly ahead and pulling trolleys of tools behind as they prepared to service the Thunderhawk's needs. The Astartes tracked them with their bolters, ever wary for threats, but Hevostan waved them down indicating that the Servitors were harmless and they let the lobotomised, cyborg slave-machines through the line. Everybody turned away, ignoring the drudging slave-machines as they worked and Furion remarked, "Does anyone happen to see where our welcoming committee is?"

"Over there," said Hevostan pointing at a figure crossing over the edge of the landing field.

She was a blocky and square figure in a red robe, floating over the Ferrocrete without legs or any visible sign of locomotion. Toran recognised her instantly; she was Magos Castabore, an old friend and ally both of the Storm Heralds and himself personally. Toran raised his hand in greeting and watched as she sailed over. She hurriedly closed, waving at them and Toran was about to step forward to greet her, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw something odd. Hevostan had started knocking the side of his helm with a fist and shaking his head as if he was confused. Toran looked back at the Magos and realised that she was not waving in greeting, but frantic warning. She was shouting something in an organic voice and his enhanced hearing cut through the distant noise of industry to hear her yelling, "No… get away from them! Keep clear of the Servitors!"

Toran instantly glanced back at the slave-machines surrounding the Thunderhawks and was shocked to see the cyborgs had abandoned their duties and picked up arc welders and cutting torches. Their dead eyes gleamed with malign intelligence and before anyone could react they leapt at the Astartes, trying to cut them apart in a brutal surprise ambush.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crux Lapis Chapter 2**

On the Ferrocrete landing pad the Servitors drew arcing welding torches and plasma cutters as they threw themselves at the Storm Heralds. Their flesh was riddled with pipes, reinforced braces and heavy gear that had been stapled into withered, leathery flesh. Their skin dripped oils and their eyes, ears and whole faces had been riveted with metal plates. Their movements were uncharacteristically fast and coordinated, taking the element of surprise and exploiting better than a platoon of Skitarii could have done. Their tools hissed and sparked as they bore down on the Astartes, gouging into Ceramite plates with flares of power to leave deep scars behind.

The ambush was well timed and organised, against any other force it would have been devastating and deadly, but these were Space Marines. Before the first Servitor had even landed a blow the Transhumans had raised their weapons and they met the charge with a blistering counterattack. Toran had the Sword of Thiel in his hand so fast that his actions seemed like a blur, one that was haloed by a corona of lightning as the blade's energy field erupted into life. His enhanced organs spiked his bloodstream with Hyper-adrenaline and his armour flooded his body with combat stimms, making time seem to slow before his eyes. In the calm of dilated time, Toran assessed the threat and determined where he could make a difference. Three heavy servitors were bearing down on Sergeant Mylos, clomping heavily on the Ferrocrete as they charged at him. Toran sprang into their path, intercepting them with his blade held before him to force them to change course. The Servitors reacted instantly, redirecting their charge with eerie intelligence and a smooth coordination that was totally unnatural for the lobotomised slave-machines.

Toran had a single second to assess the enemy before combat was joined, more than enough time for his enhanced brain to take in everything. The first Servitor had the waxy, grey pallor of a vat-grown subject and it boasted a large mechanical claw where its left arm should be. Toran calculated that it was powerful enough to crush ceramite, but it was slow and easy to avoid. The second must have once been a man, his dead skin covered in gang tattoos, but whatever crime he had committed to earn such a fate was irrelevant, now he was a mindless machine. It bore a sparking plasma torch in one hand, hot enough to melt armour and short enough to be deadly in close confines. The third had once been a woman, but its jaw had been removed and replaced with a vox speaker. It's back carried a large tank, while its left arm was a pump and its right arm was a fuel hose, dripping Promethium, the slightest spark could set it off.

The three Servitors bore down on Toran, coordinating with sinister grace. Toran was surprised, Servitors were typically mindless and crude things but these worked effortlessly together, moving as one and using their numerical advantage to great effect. Yet the worst thing about them was their eyes, following his every move, studying, calculating and learning in a way no mindless machine should be able to do. Their skill, tactics and brutality were a deadly combination, but Toran was not afraid. The first Servitor came at him with its great claw, but Toran spun about, letting it pass him in a lumbering swipe. The second was ready for such a move and came at him with its plasma cutter, but Toran didn't try to meet it with his sword, instead he kicked out and bowled it over with his boot. In the second of clearance he had bought Toran lashed out, straight at the third Servitor, piercing its fuel pump and cutting its fuel supply, rendering the most dangerous threat null and void.

The hairs on Toran's neck quivered and he ducked just in time to avoid a sweep from a plasma torch as the second servitor tried to stab him in the back. Toran reversed his grip on his sword and drove it under his arm, stabbing backwards to plunge into the Servitor's chest and rip out its vital components. He stood up and spun to confront the last servitor, which was lumbering back towards him, but before it closed a sharp bang flew over Toran's shoulder and the Servitor collapsed as its head exploded. Toran turned to see Sergeant Mylos lowering his combi plasma-bolter, the expert marksmen turning away without comment to cut down the remaining servitors. Toran was used to Mylos' brusque nature, they had never been close after all, and he assessed the rest of the battle. The remaining Servitors had been cut apart by the Space Marines, the lumbering brutes no match for the Transhuman Astartes. Toran felt the rush of adrenaline receding and he wiped oil off his blade, disgusted at the unworthy fluid smearing so noble a weapon. He looked up as he sheathed it and called, "Any injuries?"

Furion wandered over with the rest of the Command squad, their weapons dripping oil and the giant marine answered, "Only Brother Niroth of Matheus' squad."

Toran asked, "Was it serious?"

Furion replied, "Only to his pride, he is shamed for allowing a mere Servitor to draw a Space Marine's blood. It will be the talk of the barracks; he's never going to hear the end of it."

Toran snorted in amusement but was distracted as he heard the whine of anti-gravs heralding Magos Castabore arriving on the scene, looking like a hooded robe draped over a box with light flickering where her face should be. In the few moments of combat she had closed the distance and now hovered slowly forwards calling out, "Are you functional?"

Toran stepped closer with his Command Squad and he saw Hevostan closing in, his red armour matching Castabore's robes perfectly. Toran looked at the Magos and said, "Magos, you have a lot of explaining to do, what is happening here?"

Castabore sounded frustrated as she replied, "An error, a malfunction in the servitor's command codes that led to incorrect actions."

From behind them spat the voice of Mylos saying, "An error?! This was no Haywire effect, this was an ambush."

Toran agreed saying, "He is right, this is unacceptable. I demand an explanation right now."

Castabore wrung her metal hands in a curiously human gesture and sounded anxious as she said, "I can explain but not here, I was instructed to bring you the council of the Archmagos, he can explain everything."

Mylos snorted and said, "We are not going anywhere with you until you give us some answers."

Castabore sounded harried as she said, "I have not been authorised to provide such information."

Toran drew in a breath and declared, "Very well… back in the Thunderhawks men. We are leaving."

"Wait!" shrieked Castabore, falling for the blatant bluff like a rookie card player, "Wait, I can't let you leave… very well, ask me your questions and I will answer as best I can."

Toran nodded and said, "You can start by telling us, what is going on around here."

Castabore sank lower on her anti-gravs and said, "For the last few months Crux Lapis has been plagued by a Scrapcode infection. It has created an epidemic of malfunctions and erroneous commands in a vast array of systems. Not just servitors, but transports, work convoys, manufactories, cargo schedules, interior and exterior defences. It has avoided every attempt to root it out, evaded every sweep of the Noosphere and rebuffed every cyber-exorcism. Even full system reboots have failed to purge the debased code; it mocks us at every turn."

"I see…" said Toran very slowly, "But I do have one question: what is Scrapcode?"

Castabore looked stunned at the naive question but Hevostan explained, "It is a form of data-djinn, an evil spectre that haunts Logic Engines to corrupt pure Machine Spirits and turn them to fell purpose. It is one of the foremost weapons of the Ruinous Powers and accursed Hereteks."

Toran's organic eye went wide and he said, "Are you telling me every Servitor on the planet could be turned against us?!" Everybody swallowed at that thought, Servitors were universal in the Imperium and they were everywhere, in every city, every ship and every place of importance. They were the faceless and unregarded slaves of the Imperium and a Forgeworld had more than anywhere else. The thought that the Servitors could not be trusted was unsettling indeed, the Astartes could be surrounded by billions of foes and not even know it.

Castabore however held up her hands appealingly saying, "No, not all of them. The Scrapcode has only demonstrated the ability to repurpose a handful of machines at a time, no more than a hundred or so. But it is frustratingly pernicious, even the Tahgmata and Legio Cybernetica have been affected; we were forced to take them off-line. The only technology that proves immune so far is that which depends upon living minds, Skitarii, Knights, Titans and Adeptus Magi themselves. That is why the Archmagos called for your aid; the Forgeworld has never been more vulnerable."

Furion spat, "This is a most serious threat, Crux Lapis has been touched by the Dark Gods and you did not tell us."

Mylos grumbled, "If Chaos is involved then the Inquisition should be informed."

"No, not them, they have no right to interfere in Mechanicus matters. The Omnissiah himself guaranteed our autonomy," cried Castabore in desperation to keep the shadowy agents of the Inquisition from her Forgeworld's doors, "Besides we have no actual evidence of the Ruinous Powers involvement, merely pernicious code, opportunistic glitches and random malfunctions."

Furion drummed his fingers on his chest plate and said thoughtfully, "This ambush was neither random nor opportunistic; it was planned and meticulously executed. This was the work of a mind, a living mind."

Castabore snorted and said, "Don't be ridiculous, the statistical probability of these Servitors reducing your numbers even by one is infinitesimally small. Why would anyone bother to waste resources so?"

Toran answered, "To watch how we reacted, the Servitors recorded our every move. Someone wanted to assess our capabilities, to see what we were capable of and learn what it would take to defeat us next time. This was not random, this was strategy."

Castabore floated up and down in silence, seemingly shocked by the notion. Strange lights flickered under her dark hood and then slowly she said, "In three months of analysis we never considered that this could be the work of an individual, a physical being. But the code was so sophisticated so intuitive, adapting and rewriting itself beyond our ability to compute. Nobody could do that, not even the finest Magi of the Mechanicus. How could we ever have suspected that one being could do all this?"

Hevostan remarked, "Didn't the signal tip you off?"

"Signal?" spat Castabore in surprise.

"Yes," Hevostan replied, "Buried in the Noosphere, a faint signal transmitting the Scrapcode to the Servitors. It grated on my modem like a rasp, capturing a sample was like pulling teeth."

"You captured a sample?!"Cried Castabore excitedly as she shot up a foot, "But how, we have failed for months to isolate even a single line of code."

Hevostan cocked his head and replied, "Yes, it was annoying how it kept erasing itself from my data buffer, in the end I had to memorise its structure line by line and transcribe it to a firewalled memory cache."

"He wrote it down," whispered Castabore in disbelief, "Error-shunt-abort… he wrote it down."

Toran was lost in all this Techno-Theological discourse and said, "So what does this mean?"

Castabore said, "I must take you to the Archmagos at once and report these hypothesise, this could change everything."

Toran nodded and said, "Very well, summon your Transports, we will come with you and meet this Archmagos."

Castabore hesitantly replied, "Only a few of you are needed."

Mylos snorted and said, "You think we are going to split up after this happened?"

Toran nodded and said, "I must agree, we will stay together for now."

Castabore sighed and said, "Very well, but the bulk of your forces will not be permitted into the holiest of sanctums."

"Agreed," said Toran, "Third Company, form up and move out."

As the Company readied itself Furion turned to the Command Squad and said, "Bylan, good news, it looks like you might get to see a Titan after all."


	3. Chapter 3

**Crux Lapis Chapter 3**

Under an inverted sky there was a Forge-Fane, as tall over a hundred stories high and just as long and wide, all hard angles and sheer walls. It lacked most of the gothic ornamentation common to imperial structures, no Aquilla, no gargoyles and no statues of the Primarchs, to merely human eyes it was bare and unadorned. The building was surrounded by a vast courtyard within which numerous red-robed adepts hurried to and fro, bustling about on various errands and mysterious duties. There were envoys and savants, lowly Lexmechanics and lordly Fabricators, Servitors by the hundred and aloof Magi all going about their business.

Observing this all were platoons of Skitarii, standing about with Hellguns, electro-staves and plasma fusiliers held on a hair trigger. They stopped and scanned adepts according to a complex formula, checking identifications over and over regardless of rank or privilege. Overseeing all this were a pair of mechanical walkers, soaring over everybody else and bearing the mightiest of weapons. When it came to security, the Mechanicus took no chances. It was into this arena that a trio of grav skimmers emerged, passing under Auspex arches and the watchful eyes of multi-laser turrets. They hummed into the courtyard and settled down in a seemingly random area, but one that had been kept clear for them. The vehicles settled down slowly and before they had touched the ground Space Marines were springing out of them, circling the machines in a defensive knot with bolters raised. The swirling crowds completely ignored them, passing by without a comment about the weapons being pointed at them.

Third Company swiftly disembarked a blot of blue in a sea of red, with a single dot of black showing the presence of the Company Chaplain. Amid all this Captain Toran and his squad were looking about, trying to spot someone of authority to talk to. Toran had assumed a guard would be sent to meet them but it seemed to be business as normal here. Magos Castabore skimmed past, then paused and said, "Bring your envoys, the rest can stay here."

Toran blinked and then sighed at the Tech-Priest's brusqueness and said, "Chaplain Wrethan, keep the squads here and guard the vehicles. Command Squad and Hevostan, with me."

As Third Company settled in the small party set off, marching in Castabore's wake as they moved through the crowd. Toran watched the swirling movements and was unsettled by the number of Servitors he saw and the knowledge that any of them could be turned against them in a heartbeat. It was disquieting, for Toran had never realised how much he took Servitors for granted. They were everywhere in the Imperium, trusted with everything and utterly ignored by most. The idea that enemies could be all around them made Toran's trigger finger itch and he felt as if thousands of eyes were upon him.

He was distracted by Bylan, who was carrying the Company Standard and excitedly pointing as he exclaimed, "+Look, look at that, Titans!+"

Persion laughed derisively and said, "Those aren't Titans, those are merely Knight Engines. House Pardus if I am not mistaken."

Bylan sounded crestfallen and said, "+Oh… what's the difference?+"

Furion answered, "On the day you see a Titan you will understand all too well."

Novak wasn't listening, instead craning his head back at the inverted sky and saying, "This is too weird, I can see buildings on the roof. There are people walking about upside down over our heads."

"Ignore it," Furion admonished him, "Concentrate on your duties."

Jediah growled, "I don't like this, we are surrounded by enemies on all sides."

Toran eyed a passing servitor warily and agreed saying, "Keep your guards up, the situation is most volatile."

Soon the party had approached the Forge Fane and here at last they were stopped, a squad of red-robed Skitarii blocking their path with a Tech-Priest at their head. Castabore floated up to them and began making a most curious noise, a hissing tone filled with pops, squeaks and pings. The Tech-Priest responded in kind and together they sounded like a boiling kettle, it made Toran want to stick a finger in his ear and wiggle it as if something was caught there. After a few seconds, Castabore turned about and said, "Our entry has been authorised, but the guards are suspicious. They said to tell you that they will be watching our every move… especially Tech-unit Hevostan."

Toran blinked and did not know what to say but Castabore was already leading them on. The Skitarii followed them and as they did so Toran heard the Skitarii Magos say in a flesh-voice, "Touch nothing and tell your pet to keep his grubby hands to himself."

As the party entered the Forge-Fane Persion remarked, "What the Feth was that?"

Castabore answered, "Techmarines are not well regarded by the worthies of Mars, you have a reputation for innovation and invention."

Novak asked, "And that's bad?"

Hevostan replied, "On Mars, very bad. It's considered barely one step down from outright Tech-Heresy."

The party went quiet as they mused upon this, passing deeper into the Forge-Fane, walking past many alcoves that bore strange devices. These meant absolutely nothing to Toran, resembling lumps of metal and gears, yet Hevostan was peering about with intense interest, occasionally sighing in awe as they passed by. He sounded almost sad that they couldn't stop to admire the sights so Toran could only assume that they were artefacts of great significance and potency. Eventually they came up to a pair of bare metal doors, which parted before them as they approached. They strode in to find a bare metal chamber, bereft of decoration or ornamentation. It was a perfect square, each line mathematically perfect and uniform in length, but otherwise unremarkable.

Within the chamber were five Adepts in red robes, each one strangely lumpy under the material, hinting at the Augmetics beneath. They all had snake-like mechandrites waving in the air in hypnotising patterns, but were otherwise indistinguishable. They were talking in their strange hissing, popping language, but stopped when the party entered. Castabore bobbed low before them and the central figure turned a hooded head to regard her. A rich flesh voice came out from under his hood, it was synthetic but despite that it resembled the voice of a kindly old professor, with just a hint of indulgence for a mischievous pupil. The figure said, "Ah, Magos Castabore we are just discussing your fascinating hypothesis regarding the Scrapcode infection being the work of an individual."

Toran hadn't seen the Magos transmitting any data, but that didn't mean much, she must have other ways to communicate with the rest of her order. Meanwhile another figure spat in a dull, mechanical monotone, "Angry Statement: I told you all this was a prelude to an attack."

The first said, "I seem to recall you saying it was weakening our defences against external attack, not from within."

Toran coughed loudly to attract attention and everybody turned to look at him, Castabore said, "Ah yes, let me make introductions. This is the Forge-Synod of Crux Lapis: Archmagos Fuchsia and his second Fabricator-Locum Xenix. These are Master of Defences Magos-Dominus Sintran, Chief Biologis Genator Unix and Master of Data-Processing, Logis Ms-Dos."

Toran bowed to them, trying to sort out which one was which. The one he thought was Sintran barked in a dull monotone, "Resentful statement: We don't need their help."

This was countered by a naturally fleshy voice from the one called Unix, "Do not get superior Sintran, your Tahgmata have utterly failed to stop the malfunctions."

The one called Xenix was glaring at Castabore and Toran had the distinct impression that they did not like each other as he said, "Your Wardogs cannot help us, what do they know of the Sacred Mysteries?"

Castabore answered frankly, "The answer does not lie in conventional thinking, we need an outside opinion."

There was a growl from the one called Logis Ms-Dos and a synthetic voice followed, "And what exactly are these thugs supposed to do, are they going to shoot the Scrapcode with projectile weapons?"

Toran had the distinct impression his intelligence had just been insulted, but Hevostan stepped up and held out a Data-slate saying, "Perhaps this will help, it's a transcript of the Scrapcode taken less than an hour ago."

A mechandrite shot out from Ms-Dos and he snatched up the slate saying, "This is current? Humm… yes, I see . A most intuitive program, almost organic in its ability to mutate and reconfigure itself."

Archmagos Fuchsia said, "It seems we underestimated you, I believe the correct organic response now is to apologise for our rudeness. Please understand we are not used to dealing with non-mechanicus personnel, let alone ones so… fleshy."

Toran nodded in acceptance and said, "I understand, now tell me how this has affected your Forge?"

Genator Unix answered, "It has been totally unacceptable, my Quota orders fail to reach the production lines, servitor manufacturing has fallen by seventeen percent!"

Logis Ms-Dos declared, "It haunts my Info-vaults and interferes with the purity of numbers. Statistics are altered faster than we can process and equations return false results, corrupting all our data."

Magos-Dominus Sintran said in monotone: "Informative statement: Defensive plans are being erased, whole units are taken offline and command codes are rewritten before our eyes."

Toran sighed and said, "But how has it affected you physically, what's it done to your world?"

Everybody fell silent for a moment and then Xenix said, "We do not comprehend the logic of this inquiry."

Castabore bobbed up and sounded smug at her rival's stupefaction as she said, "He is proposing that instead of looking at this as a software problem, we instead examine the hardware affected."

There was a long moment of silence then Archmagos Fuchsia chuckled warmly and said, "Out of the mouth of babes, very well, lets us indulge this request." Without anybody moving a Hololithic image of Crux Lapis sprang into life over their heads, then as they watched a series of red dots began to cover its interior. Each dot represented a malfunction and they spread over the image like a bad rash, emerging seemingly at random. Yet Toran's arm shot out and he said, "There, do you see that?"

Sintran droned, "Confused Statement: I see nothing."

"Exactly," said Toran, "Play it again and this time, don't look at what is there, look for what is not there."

Xenix snapped, "Do what?"

Hevostan clarified, "Attempt to infer the absence of deleted files by discrepancies in the remaining file headings."

The image played out again and this time the gap was obvious. Fuchsia gasped and said, "Look, a grid-sector has been entirely avoided by the malfunctions. How did we miss this?"

Toran remarked, "Because you were looking at it as a Mathematical problem, not a strategy of war. Somebody has gone to extraordinary lengths to keep you out of that sector, creating multiple distractions to draw your eyes away."

Xenix asked, "What is in that sector?"

Logis Ms-Dos answered, "Archives say it was a Servitor manufactory, but it was shut down and scheduled for demolition… strange the order was issued but never enacted. The command seems to have been erroneously stored but not sent."

Toran snorted, "That was no error, somebody is running rings around your defences."

Sintran droned, "Bold statement: My Skitarii will clear that sector at once and root out whoever did this."

Archmagos Fuchsia however held up a metal hand and said, "Whoever did this has displayed an alarming ability to subvert our Data-protocols and override Machine Spirits, we cannot trust the veracity of the reports from any unit who enters that sector."

Genator Unix asked, "Then what do we do?"

Fuchsia said, "Flesh seems to be immune, so we must ask our guests to investigate for us."

Sintran droned, "Angry Retort: We can do this without them."

Fuchsia though admonished him saying, "No, your forces will isolate the sector but we must call upon our allies for this task. They are the work of the Omnissiah's hand after all and we would be fools not to respect that. "

Toran stepped forward and addressed the Synod saying, "You have my word the Storm Heralds will dig out the root of this evil. My Chapter Master has stressed to me the importance of our friendship with the Mechanicus, you are our allies and we stand with you in your hour of need. In the Emperor's name, I swear we shall return your Forge to its proper glory."


	4. Chapter 4

**Crux Lapis Chapter 4**

Over the gently curving surface of the Forgeworld flew a trio of Anti-Grav skimmers, steered by servitors that kept them to a perfect calculated course. They were open-topped vehicles with short stubby fins and wide bellies, somewhat similar to elongated Land Speeders but much slower. Spread over their decks was the entirety of Third Company, standing around the rails looking down at the world beneath their feet. This was no sight-seeing trip though, Astartes were always ready for war and they held their weapons tightly, ever ready for traps.

Stood upon the lead skimmer Captain Toran was surveying the surroundings with his helm off, seeing the various districts passing under their keel. There were vast manufactories and storage yards, transport hubs and links, military parade grounds and areas whose purpose he couldn't begin to guess at. Yet what surprised him most was the number of slum dwellings and habitation areas he saw. Places for ordinary men and women to live out their lives just like on any other world, there were even markets and drinking establishments. In many ways it was indistinguishable from a Hive City on any other world. Toran had always assumed that the population of a Forgeworld would be entirely Servitors and Tech-Priests; it had never occurred to him that non-modified people might live here too. Upon reflection it made sense, somebody had to work in the factories and workshops and manual labourers were less expensive than massively upgraded workers and far easier to replace.

Toran turned from the rail and stepped back, letting his place be taken by an Initiate with a bolter. He stepped back and found Hevostan and Castabore in the middle of the skimmer, talking in their strange hissing, popping language. Toran approached them and they cut off their talk as the Captain approached. He addressed them saying, "Am I interrupting?"

Hevostan replied, "No Captain, we were merely discussing a number of improvements for my work. The Magos' suggestions were highly noteworthy, derived from STC fragments if I am not mistaken."

Castabore had no face to express emotions, yet she was definitely not looking at Toran and he understood why. Some years ago Toran and Castabore had taken a stolen STC archive from a dead Inquisitor and Toran had used the affair to blackmail the Magos into supporting his Chapter. The STC had been part of the deal, secretly given to Castabore to seal their pact and only his Command Squad knew what had happened. Given how shifty she was looking, Toran guessed she hadn't told anyone where she was getting her advanced designs and wanted to keep it that way. Toran changed the subject quickly saying, "The Forge-Synod seems to hold you in high regard Magos, I presume your star is rising in the Adeptus Mechanicus."

Castabore replied gladly, "Yes, the last few decades have seen my status elevated several times over. The Archmagos has taken a particular interest in my career; he has bestowed several important projects upon me and always expressed satisfaction with the results. At the current rate I project I am on course for a position of seniority, perhaps leading my own Sub-Synod or command of a Forgeship."

From behind them came a snort and from the rail Persion, who had been eavesdropping, said, "That Fabricator-Locum doesn't seem too happy about that."

Castabore sounded irate as she said, "Xenix considers himself the heir to the Archmagos, he is most concerned with a rival taking his prestige. He spends far more time worrying about politics than contemplating the mysteries of the Omnissiah."

That lit a spark of suspicion in Toran and he said, "You don't think… well, could it be that he is involved in this Scrapcode affair?"

Castabore gasped in outrage and said, "Absolutely not!"

Hevostan quickly stepped in and said, "Forgive the Captain, he does not intend to offer an insult. Captain Toran, you must understand that to the Tech-Priests the sanctity of data is nothing less than holy. To suggest a Senior Magos would knowingly introduce a Scrapcode infection into a pure system is tantamount to an allegation of Heresy. It is like accusing someone of serving Chaos itself."

Persion let out a bark of derisive laughter and said, "It wouldn't be the first time, the Dark Mechancium is a plague upon the stars."

Toran glared at him for the crude remark, but said to Castabore, "Magos, it is hard to bear and yet we must consider all options. If history proves anything it is that no one is above suspicion when the Ruinous Powers are involved. I do not single out any individual and yet somebody has orchestrated all this, we must consider who."

Castabore went quiet for a moment and then reluctantly said, "Well as a purely hypothetical query, it could be possible that a high ranking Magos is involved… yet that makes no sense. This infection has wreaked havoc upon all system and projects, everybody has been harmed by it, nobody stands to benefit at all. It would be against all reason to do this."

Toran said, "Sadly when it comes to Chaos, logic and reason are in short supply. The followers of the Ruinous Powers delight in carnage for its own sake; they may want nothing more than to watch your world burn."

Castabore shook her head and said, "This conjecture does not fit the facts, the infection had a purpose: to draw our attention away from a specific place. That leads to the conclusion that something specific is being undertaken. Secondly, the Scrapcode itself is extremely sophisticated, beyond the ability of any Mechanicus Magos to create; no Adept of Mars could conceive such a thing."

Hevostan agreed saying, "Then there is the way it effortlessly transmits itself through the Noosphere."

"Noosphere?" asked Toran.

Hevostan nodded and explained, "A medium for Machine Spirits to exchange data and share the Logic Engine's processing power. It is widely used by the Mechanicus and has always proved somewhat… resistant to the corruptions of Chaos. It was instrumental in the victory of the loyalist Tech-Priests over the Dark Mechanicus. Yet this Scrapcode travels along the data-web without causing so much as a tremor, it is unlike anything Chaos has unleashed before."

Toran was struggling to get his head around all this Tech-dogma and said, "So… what you're saying is that you are sure this is no renegade Adept?"

Hevostan nodded and said, "A Tech-Priest conjuring such a Data-Djinn? No definitely not, this is totally foreign to us. I am reluctant to speculate, but I suspect Xeno involvement."

Toran mused upon this trying to think what enemies he had encountered who were capable of this, but none readily presented themselves. He sighed to himself and reminded himself of the Codex's teachings, wild speculation was useless now; they needed more information before they could make a plan of action. He looked ahead and realised that the skimmers were slowing down, they were nearing their goal. Toran turned to Persion and said, "Raise the Skitarii guarding the perimeter, let them know we are coming in."

Persion nodded and the communication specialist began attempting to contact the cybernetic Tech-Guards, but after a minute he looked up and said, "Captain there is a problem, I cannot raise any of the Skitarii."

Castabore interjected, "That is not right, they should have known we were coming."

A nasty suspicion began to form in Toran's mind and he said, "Are there any transmissions at all?"

Persion answered, "Not from the guards, they are silent."

Toran's trigger finger began to itch and his sense of enemies nearby escalated as he ordered, "Slow down the skimmers, set us down a few blocks away from the perimeter. Keep the buildings between us and the guards, no clear lines of sight."

As the Skimmers began to come in for a landing Persion said, "Please tell me you don't think that the Skitarii are now under the control of this Scrapcode."

Castabore heard that and said, "Impossible, the Scrapcode has only managed to infect Machine Spirit guided processes. The Skitarii are still partly organic, their living minds should be immune."

"Should," said Toran suspiciously as he fixed his helmet back on, "In war, it pays to never underestimate your enemy and this foe has already proven extremely cunning."

The three skimmers came to a halt, hovering a few metres off the ground in the slums and the Space Marines deployed. Tactical Marines holding bolters ready, Assault Marines with Jump packs idling and Devastator squads with Missile launchers and Lascanons held over their shoulders. Last to disembark was Magos Castabore, grumbling under her breath about the inefficient use of their time. As the skimmers returned to the sky Toran led his command squad to the fore, seeing Third Company in perfect formation and he called, "Sergeant Mylos, take your squad and scout ahead, get eyes on the Skitarii. Maintain Vox silence, their gear is as good as ours."

The Tactical squad took off into the cramped slum and Third Company followed slowly, sweeping the place room by room as they proceeded through the buildings between them and the Tech-guard. Toran spied numerous vagrants scattering before their approach and worried that their position would be given away, but they looked entirely organic so in theory the Scrapcode shouldn't be able to use them. Toran kept the Company in motion, expecting a trap at every turn but finding nothing. He spied Hevostan shaking his head and flinching repeatedly and the Captain said, "What is it?"

Hevostan replied, "That signal again, its returned like before... But it's different now. The Scrapcode is more complex, changing moment to moment; it's most difficult to pin down."

Toran's hearts sank as his suspicions flared, but this was not proof of anything, he needed certainty before committing to any action. Thankfully at that moment Mylos returned, his squad in tow and the Sergeant reported, "Captain, we saw the perimeter. There's a large chasm across our path with a narrow bridge being the only way across. The Skitarii are guarding the bridge and keeping a watchful eye out for any intruders."

Persion sounded confused as he said, "A chasm? What's that doing in a Forgeworld?"

Castabore replied, "The crust of Crux Lapis is most irregular, containing numerous folds and crevices. It was deemed an inefficient use of resources to fill them in, especially when the only nearby personal are mere laborers. Bridges proved far more cost-effective to build."

"Great," muttered Persion, "The Cog-boys decided to cut costs and left behind a perfect ready-made chokepoint, I don't suppose there's any chance the Skitarii are guarding it for us?"

Mylos shook his head and said, "The Skitarii's guns aren't pointing up the bridge, but outwards. They're guarding it against interlopers, not a threat from within."

Persion said, "They must have been subverted then, there's no other answer."

Toran however said, "It is suspicious but not proof, I will not fire upon allies until we are certain. We need to be ready though, Third Company will deploy. Devastators get in elevated positions; Tactical squads are to spread out through the buildings to either side. Assault squads, hold in reserve for my signal to attack."

With consummate speed the Company spread out, forming a concave firing line through the surrounding buildings, with all guns pointed ahead. They swiftly moved up and found firing positions that looked out over the chasm and its bridge, seeing a large number of Skitarii spread out around the end of the structure. Toran led his squad through the ground floor of a building and took cover by a hollowed out window, he leaned around the edge and looked at the Tech-guards, trying to discern their intentions. All looked normal save that they were facing the wrong way, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in warning.

Toran decided to try opening a vox link to speak to the Skitarii, when suddenly they all stiffened and jerked their weapons up. There was a second's pause and then they opened fire with Hellguns and plasma shots, blasting the front of the buildings with volleys of disciplined fire. Toran snatched his head back, as dust and chips of mortar sprayed over him. He knew he had just got all the confirmation he needed that the Skitarii were under the control of the Scrapcode and he yelled, "Third Company… return fire!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Crux Lapis Chapter 5**

Along the edge of a chasm a battle raged, two lines of augmented warriors unleashing hell in the incredibly tight confines. One group was a tight knot of red, laid over plasteel implants and hunkering down behind hastily erected barricades. The other was a line of blue ceramite, taking cover in doorways, under windows and at the lintels of roofs as they blazed away with bolters and heavy weapons. The thunder was horrendous, enough to scare away any civilians left in the area but neither side was deterred in the slightest.

From behind his cover Toran was panning his Master-Crafted bolter back and forth, discharging short bursts at these unexpected enemies. They were a line of red robes and grey metal in his vision, each one resembling a human in layered plates of armour. Their helms bore multiple eye lenses that burned a fierce blue and many had long antennas protruding from their backs. Their weapons were unusually long and covered in odd protuberances, almost archaic looking, but far more deadly than their appearance suggested. There were Hellguns and Plasma pistols, galvanic rifles and Grav canons and even a few Radium Jezzails that sent Rad-counters spiking on both sides of the line.

The Skitarii were laying down a complex web of fire, their skills seemingly undiminished by their subverted loyalties. There was no trace of hesitation or remorse to be found in the Tech-Guard, the Scrapcode was in their cybernetic heads, rewriting their minds moment by moment and turning friends into enemies. This was a fight like few others, two groups of augmented and enhanced warriors trading fire with preternaturally accurate shooting. Each side equipped with the finest weapons Mankind could produce, each utterly disdainful of injury or casualties. The incoming fire was intense and were it not for their armoured helms and gene-enhanced eyesight the Space Marines would have struggled to see through the flashes and sprays of dust being kicked up. It was a furious exchange of fire, as intense as any battlefield in the forty-first millennium and yet despite it all the Skitarii were utterly silent, not making any noise at all. They held their line with steady resolve, trading shot for shot with inhuman detachment, never getting angry, never making a mistake.

Toran spotted a Tech-Guard with a transverse crest on its helm, a sign of leadership, he shifted his aim instantly and let loose a three round burst at the leader. The shots were right on target and yet they ricocheted off its thick armour and left it to fall back behind a barricade, dazed but undamaged. Toran cursed silently but Furion was standing at the next window and called, "Captain, we need to work together, fire as one." Toran nodded and paused, waiting for the leader to reveal himself again, the battle raged all around them for a long second but then the Skitarii popped up from cover and Toran squeezed his trigger. Furion did the same and together they caught the leader in a crossfire, tearing his armour to shreds and this time its torso exploded as the mass reactive bolts detonated within.

The Skitarii did not seem fazed by the loss of their leader, quickly realigning a Heavy Grav-Canon to target Toran's position. Toran flung himself away from the window just as the Grav-Canon spoke, the discharge being invisible until it encountered the wall and created a micro-singularity. A section of wall crumpled inwards, collapsing like a sandcastle into a tiny point and Toran felt the gravity dragging at his body, making him feel like he was swimming against a strong current. The captain pulled free as the effect diminished and rolled to the next window before glancing out. The battle was raging fiercely and neither side seemed able to break the deadlock, the combatants were too finely balanced and the tide could turn either way. Several blinking alarms in Toran's vision told him that Brothers had already fallen, but there was nothing he could do, save trust that the Company's Apothecary would tend to their wounds.

Toran stepped closer to Furion and called, "We can't let this continue, we need to break this stalemate."

Furion answered, "We cant outflank them with that Chasm, we need to hit them dead on. Get up close and personal and show them that a Warrior's spirit can best machine logic any day."

Toran nodded, knowing the coming charge would be bloody, but there were no other options. He was about to call for suppressing fire when there was a cry from above and Sergeant Matheius called, "Captain, enemy vehicles crossing the bridge!"

Toran instantly saw what he meant, filling the width of the metal span were a pair of bulky machines: Onager Dunecrawlers. They were slab-sided things and walked on four legs, making them look ungainly, but they advanced rapidly regardless. Toran's augmetic eye zoomed in and he saw they were each equipped with the twin autocannon barrels of an Icarus array and pods of missiles, had the Space Marines proceeded as planned in their skimmers then they would have been blown from the sky. As it was the vehicles shifted the balance of power firmly to the Skitarii and if Third Company did not deal with them quickly the fight would be lost.

Toran shouted, "Devastators and all other heavy weapons, target those machines now!" Instantly a flurry of missiles and Lascannons responded, a dozen blasts of tank killing firepower flying out from the Space Marine's line to inundate the Dunecrawlers. The salvo would have obliterated a Rhino and gutted a Predator, but before it could touch the Dunecrawlers it encountered crackling forcefield spread between them. Every shot detonated prematurely, leaving the Mechanicus vehicles untouched. In response the Dunecrawlers fixed their legs and raised their weapons, then they let fly a return volley. The rounds punched straight through the walls the Space Marines were using as cover and the missiles detonated straight after, blasting ceramite apart and killing several Astartes in one go. Toran snarled to see more life signs blink red in his vision, but he knew that his Marines were not deterred, Astartes did not lament their losses: they repaid them tenfold.

Toran cried, "Concentrate your fire! Every weapon target the machine on the left!" Again a flurry of light and fire spat forth, this time honing in on one machine only. The forcefield crackled and snapped but was weaker now and blasts started to slip through, tearing and gouging at the thick armour plates. The machine rang like a bell under the weight of fire, taking real damage as its glacis plate struggled to hold back the carnage.

It was at this moment that a single Lascannon blast punched through the forcefield, straying slightly low to hit the Dunecrawler in the leg. The limb melted in the killing power of the shot and in a single second the leg snapped, toppling the Dunecrawler over on its side to end up facing its twin. The machine hit the ground in a jarring impact and the shock triggered its missiles, all of them at once. A flurry of missiles shot forth, all of them impacting the other Dunecrawler in a blaze of fire that ripped it apart. The machine detonated it in a massive fireball that swept over the Skitarii's line, buffeting them from an unexpected direction. It was one of those mad moments of insanity that could occur only in the heat of combat, the kind of unpredictable variable that no equation of war could anticipate. Yet no Space Marine worthy of the name would fail to recognise such a moment. Toran was already up and moving as he cried, "Assault teams with me! Tactical squads: suppressing fire!"

The whole line lit up as Toran charged into battle, drawing the Sword of Thiel as he did so. His command squad were with him, racing on his heels while over their heads soared the mighty angels of the Assault Marines, with wings of fire spilling from their jump packs. The Assault Marines hit the Skitarii first, smashing into their formation with earth-shattering force. The mighty figure of Chaplain Wrethan was among them, his Crozius already smiting the foe in concussive blasts of thunder. Toran redoubled his pace, pushing himself harder to confront the enemy, desperate to intervene before the Assault Marines were overwhelmed by superior numbers. As he ran he could see chainswords rising and falling, being met by electro staves and shock gauntlets. It seemed to be taking forever to close the distance and he snarled in anger as he saw a blue-clad body fall in a spray of blood. Then finally Toran was in amongst the enemy, his Sword plunging into the first metal body he encountered.

The world closed in and all Toran could see was the next foe before him, He struck out in the heaving melee, hearing his command squad all engaging right behind him. The Skitarii reacted with blinding speed, throwing themselves at him with weapons sparking and armour plates reconfiguring to match his blows. Yet Toran's blade was forged in ancient times, with long-forgotten sciences and it cleaved through armour effortlessly to leave a trail of carnage in his wake. Toran ploughed through the packed mass of the foe, wrecking havoc with every blow and the assault team followed in his wake, exploiting his charge. Behind him he could hear the furious bellows of Furion mixed with the cries of triumph from Persion and Jediah's laughter as he killed. Novak was cheering as he slew the fastest and strongest of the enemy, his blade singing as it cut air, armour and flesh with equal ease. While Bylan was raising the Company Standard high for all to see, urging the assault team to follow in the Captain's wake and inspiring them to greater feats of valour.

The battle was fierce and bloody yet for all their mechanical precision and deadly Augmetics, the Skitarii lacked the fervour and passion of the Astartes, their fanatical need to succeed against all odds. The Space Marines were driven by more than logic and reason, more than the chains of obedience and compliance to orders. This was why the Emperor had forged his ultimate weapons out of men and not machines. Their hearts and souls empowered their every strike, making them faster and deadlier than they had any right to be. The passionless Tech-Guard had nothing that could withstand this fury and they fell in droves, cut apart in a frenzy of carnage. Toran saw the Skitarii line collapsing and he pressed forwards, stepping onto the bridge and claiming it for the Astartes. The battle had turned firmly in the favour of the Storm Heralds and the victory lay within their grasp, but sadly it was not to be. Suddenly Persion lifted his arm and pointed ahead, sounding aghast as he cried, "Throne of Terra, what is that?!"

Toran lifted his head and saw a wave of reinforcements pouring onto the far end of the bridge, a fresh force coming to join the battle, but not one comprised of Skitarii. Every Mechanicus soldier and creation was a hybrid being, a union of flesh and metal. Even their mightiest of Battle-automata boasted the sanctity of organic components, although this might be little more than a brain in a jar. These new figures however were bare metal from head to toe, with not a scrap of flesh between them and none of the accoutrements necessary to support an organic brain. Instead these abominations resembled walking metal skeletons, ones furnished with plates of armour that left exposed gaps to reveal the gears and mechanisms within.

They were blank-faced killers, utterly impassive, yet with a fierce, cold intellect burning in their eyes: one that screamed its contempt of humanity. For a second Toran thought the newcomers resembled the pict-images he had seen in reports of the Necron Xenos, but there were key differences. These one's bodies were quite inhuman, but they were formed from regular plasteel and ceramite and their bulky weapons were distinctly of Mechanicus origin. Their heads had rictus grins carved into the bare face plates; the kind only a human would understand and know to fear. While their forms boasted spikes and thorns all over their carapaces.

Toran was aghast at what he was seeing and he heard Persion say in bewilderment, "What are they, what the hell are they?"

Toran gripped his sword tighter and faced the oncoming abominations as he shouted, "It does not matter, just concentrate on killing them all!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Crux Lapis Chapter 6**

The chasm was a line of darkness in the world, a pit of blackness that fell away to unknowable depths in the bowels of the planet. Over those hidden depths a tiny span of Ferrocrete soared, a raft of light over a sea of darkness and upon that shelter a battle raged.

Captain Toran was in the heart of the melee, smashing apart metal abominations left and right even as they came at him. He had no idea what he was fighting or what dark pit of hell had spawned them, but that was a problem for later, for now there was only the fight before him. His enemies were a hideous parody of noble Mechanics creations, vile and inhuman both in form and nature. Toran was disgusted by their lack of holy human flesh, their defilement of the Imperium's foe's metal limbs were formed from rods and pistons, making them skeletally thin and wiry and they came at the Space Marines with mocking rictus grins on their faces, hatred burning in their eyes.

All around Toran his Command Squad fought on, joined by Hevostan who fought with them. Behind them the Assault Marines battled, while Devastators and Tacticals laid down supporting fire from afar. Toran was battering his foes down one by one, their strength and speed a match for his own, yet their skills were badly lacking. They fought like raw novices on the training ground and he carved them apart with deadly skill. A metal horror with knives for hands came at Toran and he blocked with the flat of his blade, the monster hissed at him but he rolled his sword over the knives and took off its head with a single blow. There was no time to celebrate however for another one was coming at him, this one with a hooked blade for one arm and a whirling drill bit as the other. Toran struck first but it blocked his strike with the flat of its hook and then rolled its arm over and came straight at his head. Toran was astonished by the move and barely managed to fend it off with a clumsy block. The abomination had exactly duplicated a move he had performed only seconds earlier, every detail being perfect in execution. The monster came at him again and Toran ducked, lashing out low to take its legs off and send it crashing to the Ferrocrete surface.

Toran had a second to look about and saw the battle raging all around, the Space Marines were holding the line but the monstrous foes were closing in. Toran saw a pattern emerging, the abominations were falling in droves but every time one fell another would step in and this one would be faster than its predecessor, more skilled and more deadly. With a flash of horror, Toran realised that the enemy was studying his Space Marine's actions, copying and duplicating their fighting styles.

They were learning.

Toran roared over the din of battle, "Brothers, the enemy seeks to take your skills for themselves! Fight not with elegance but brutality, rely upon your strength to bring victory!" Instantly the tone of the fight changed, the Space Marines abandoning their precise fighting style to rely upon sheer brute force, battering the foe down with smashing blows. Their armour was gouged and torn in response, but the noble plate held true and the Astartes fought on, battering the monsters into submission. Toran was confronted by a spiked monster, one with long thorns on every surface and knives for a ribcage. It had an evil gleam in its eye and the Captain saw the intelligence lurking there, watching, calculating and filled with contempt. It came at him in a flurry of blows, that eerily resembled Novak's fighting style, but Toran sidestepped and avoided the onslaught. He swung his sword laterally but the horror blocked him, Toran pulled back and swung again, a brutal savage attack with no elegance or skill to it. This time the Sword of Thiel carved through the monster's defence and struck deep, tearing his foe apart at the waist and cutting it in two.

The abomination fell in two smoking halves and Toran whirled about looking for the next attacker, but instead he saw something unexpected. The metal foes parted and for an instant Toran saw another horror, one that was different somehow. Unlike its kin this one had thicker limbs and a rounded chestplate that shone like silver, its face was not a rictus grin but the beautiful deathmask of a noble countenance and its head was wider and rounder. It somewhat resembled a man in a suit of power armour, but it was too tall to be human and too thin to be a Space Maine. In comparison to the other horrors it looked more advanced, more finished somehow and everything about it screamed its superiority. Toran determined that this must be whatever passed for a General among these abominations and he was about to raise his sword in challenge. Yet before he could move the strange apparition raised a clenched fist and Toran's whole world changed. A sudden lethargy fell on his chest and leaden weights wrapped themselves around his limbs, dragging at his movements and bearing down on his spine. It felt like he was deep underwater, every action slowed by immense pressure and sapping his strength moment by moment. Toran almost died in that moment, as a horror with knives for hands pounced upon him. The Captain barely managed to get his sword up in time and the abomination impaled itself upon the blade.

Toran staggered back, every step a ponderous lurch as he fought against the drag and he shouted, "Hevostan, what is happening?"

The Techmarine called back, "The Scrapcode has infected our battleplate, it's trying to turn their noble essences to the service of Ruin! I am beseeching the Machine Spirits to resist these incursions, to fight back the foulness besieging them."

Toran felt a trickle of power bleed back into his limbs and he swung his arm wide to clear some space. His armour moved in fits and starts, power surging and dying at random to make his actions jerky and uncoordinated. He could practically feel his armour's Spirit fighting for its own soul, the belligerent core of its being waging a battle as desperate as his own. He had always trusted in his ancient armour's essence to stand against all foes, to be as stubborn and unyielding as the warrior who wore it, yet this was a fight he was not sure it could win. Toran shouted, "We can't fight like this, we need to fall back. All Storm Heralds fall back now!"

The Space Marines heard their Captain and began to withdraw step by step, every inch a plodding lurch as their armour struggled to respond to their withdrawal. The monsters however were not willing to let them go, the shining General waving them onwards in a crashing wave of metal. Toran was forced to walk backwards, swinging his sword in crude sweeps to fend off the attackers. He was no longer killing his foes, merely fending them off and buying time for his men to withdraw. The monsters pressed forwards eagerly eyes gleaming with anticipation of the kill, only the distant supporting fire of the Devastators was keeping them from overrunning the Space Marines.

Toran fought his way back inch by inch, fighting only to survive the next second and the next as his plate jerked at his limbs. The tide was overwhelming but the Space Marines were making an orderly withdrawal and for a moment it looked like they would successfully disengage, but only for a moment. Toran was blocking a monster with needles for fingers when the world lurched around him, throwing him to one side. For a moment he thought it was his plate making him lurch but then he saw the abominations falling down all around him and he realised the shaking was coming from the bridge itself. Toran looked about in confusion, seeing everybody falling down and he tried to understand what was happening. Then he spied the monster's General calmly walking away and it hit him, all the time that they had been fighting these abominations had been sapping the bridge's supports. He had fatally underestimated his opponent's intelligence and now this whole thing was one massive death-trap. Toran gasped and he roared, "Get off the bridge, Move, move, move!"

As one the Astartes turned and ran for their lives, leaving the metal horrors foundering in their wake. It was a desperate race to survive, their armour dragging them back and making each step a battle in and of itself. The end of the bridge seemed so far away and Toran gritted his teeth as he led his men out. The Assault squads were closest to the end and managed to stumble onto solid ground, turning to urge the rest on to safety. Toran though for a moment that they would all reach safety, but then there was an ear piercing shriek and the whole bridge heaved as it supports fell away and it began to crumble and break apart. There was a cracking roar and the Ferrocrete surface shattered right under Hevostan's feet, the road collapsing in a heartbeat to send the Techmarine falling away into the darkness below. Toran cried "No!" in denial but that was just the start of the tragedy.

A ferocious roar filled their ears as a long crack raced across their path. The bridge fell away before their eyes, leaving a pair of crumbling slopes that dropped away into nothingness. Furion gathered himself and leapt the distance in one massive bound, but the road disintegrated under Persion's feet as he tried to do the same and he toppled head first into the endless depths. Novak jumped as high as he could but his armour's weakness slowed him and he fell short. His hand snagged a metal rod sticking out of the shattered ground, but it snapped under his weight and he too disappeared with a cry of outrage.

Another quake shook the collapsing bridge and Jediah was thrown to one side, hitting the railing which crumpled under his weight to dump him unceremoniously over the side. Meanwhile Bylan was struggling with the weight of the Company Standard, seeing the gap before him he chose to honour his sacred duty and instead of trying to save himself he elected to throw the banner over the gap. The flag was caught by an Assault Marine, but the price was Bylan's chance to save himself and he too disappeared as the road fell away from under him.

All this had occurred in less than two seconds and Toran was helpless to intervene, all he could do was double his pace and try to clear the yawning gap. He forced his legs to move, feeling a rare burn of exertion as he fought his struggling plate and threw himself into the air, he almost made it. Toran jumped the gap and from the moment his feet left the ground it was obvious he would not make it. Instead he slammed into the dropping rock face, sliding down the crumbling slope in a clatter of debris.

His fall was arrested as a vice-like grip seized his wrist; Toran looked up in surprise and saw Furion holding him by one hand, his other digging into the powdery rock face. Toran could see that their combined weight was too great; the disintegrating wall could not hold them both. The Captain yelled, "Furion, let go! Save yourself!"

Furion's Mark III armour was buzzing with strain and his voice was a snarl of pain as he fought to save his Captain, he growled between clenched teeth, "No, I won't leave you!"

Toran could see that it was hopeless and he barked, "Furion, you can't save us both, you have to let go!"

Furion's voice was a symphony of agony and Toran could hear his struggle as he snarled, "I'm… Not… Leaving… You…"

Toran roared, "Go, that's an order!" but it was too late. The rock face finally shattered under their combined weight and fell away in a shower of debris. The pair of Space Marines were left to fall together, plummeting into the endless dark below, which swallowed them whole and left no trace that either of them had ever been there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Crux Lapis: Chapter 7**

Something was banging into Toran's head, a repeated thump that knocked over and over upon his skull. It was not painful, but it was irritating his sore head. The world was dark around him and he felt odd, his head felt like all the blood was rushing into it while his thoughts were groggy and slow. Toran's consciousness slowly began to stir and his mind began to take stock, reviewing his situation. Sluggishly his mind began to present information: head woozy, arms and legs still attached, hearts beating, vision blank, location unknown, current status unknown, force strength unknown, enemy unknown. As situation reports went, it was certainly lacking something.

It was at this point Toran realised that his eyes were still closed, he slowly opened his organic eye, the augmetic one coming to life a second later as it detected the mental impulse. Toran's vision swam into focus and he saw a blue blur before him, swimming back and forth and knocking upon his head. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, until it suddenly struck him that he was upside down. He appeared to be folded over something, laying head first and being jostled up and down. Toran's vision sharpened as he awoke fully and he saw a series of jagged lines, the distinctive shape of Mark III armour, the hindquarters part at least. Toran finally realised what was happening, it appeared that he had been thrown over Furion's shoulder and was being carried like a sack of tubers as they walked along. The knocking effect was coming from having Toran's head thump into Furion's rear every time he took a step, a most undignified position.

Toran groaned loudly and Furion stopped, there was a murmur and the Captain heard Bylan's voice saying, "+He's awake, he's awake!+"

Toran felt himself being lowered to the ground and he was propped up against a rock wall. He looked up and saw his Brothers gathering around with their helms off, he took a quick head count, Furion, Bylan, Jediah, Persion, Novak and Hevostan all present. They were all alive but battered and their armour was coated in filth up to the knees.

Furion knelt by the Captain and said, "Take it slowly, you've had a nasty fall, in fact it's a miracle you're alive at all."

Toran looked at him and said, "What happened?"

Furion answered, "Everybody else hit the slope and rolled, but you… you impacted the bottom straight on. You broke a lot of your bones."

Toran could well believe it; his body was burning all over as his gene-implants rewove his skeleton and pieced his soft tissues back together. He glanced up at Furion and said, "So you decided to just throw me over your shoulder and carry me?"

Persion interjected, "Well SOMEBODY suggested we leave you for dead…"

Behind him Jediah muttered, "All I said was that I thought he was in Sus-an-Membrane Coma, he would have been perfectly safe here until we fetched help."

Toran grimaced and said, "Our armour?"

Furion answered, "Hevostan managed to purge the Scrapcode, the Spirits of our plate are safe for now."

Toran was relieved to hear that and said, "So... where are we?"

He looked up and saw two steep walls rising above them, utterly sheer and impossible to climb. The sky was a sliver of light, barely visible and letting in only a hint of daylight. The floor of the chasm was a wasteland of detritus, heaps of decaying excrement mixed with small vermin bones, scraps of cast-off materials and broken tools that not even the poorest folk could salvage. It filled the floor end to end and the Space Marines had sunk up to their knees in it. Novak stated, "It seems the poorer labourers have taken to using the chasm as a refuge dump, they have half filled it with rubbish and excrement."

"That's right, we are back in the sewers," declared Persion staring at Furion, "Again."

Furion didn't dignify that with a look back as he said blankly, "I don't know why you're staring at me."

Persion looked up at the sky and quoted, "No more running about in sewers for us, he said. The glorious cutting edge of the Chapter's Blade, he said."

"Oh, do shut up," sighed Furion.

"Right, that's enough," said Toran as he began struggling to his feet.

Furion looked concerned and said, "Toran, I don't think you should be…"

"Tis but a scratch," lied Toran, "I've had worse."

Toran staggered to his feet and instantly regretted it as his head swam and his legs spiked with agony, hinting that he had broken his ceramic bones in several places. The pain was quite intrusive, but no Astartes would ever let that slow him down and Toran could feel his Emperor designed physiology repairing itself, in a couple of hours he would be good as new. He saw the squad looking at him in concern and forced himself upright, he was the Captain and had to set an example, he could never look weak before his men. He tested his armour and found it to be responsive and smooth, strong as ever. It was at that point that Toran noticed what was missing; the scabbard at his belt was empty. He looked about in concern and said, "Where is the Sword of Thiel?"

Hevostan spoke up saying, "I have it and you are blessed by the Omnissiah that you didn't stab yourself with it when you fell."

Toran looked at the Techmarine and saw that he was carrying the Relic blade in his servo claw, Toran raised an eyebrow and Novak answered to the unspoken question as he said sheepishly, "Well we couldn't carry it by hand… it's the Sword of Thiel."

Toran shook his head as he reclaimed the blade and sheathed it, bemused by how easily Space Marines fell into superstitious reverence. Still he was glad to have the Sword back, it was more than a weapon, it was a legacy.

Bylan however seemed to be having concerns as he stepped up and said, "+Captain, I failed you… I lost the standard+"

Toran put a hand on his shoulder and said, "No you have not, I saw that even in the midst of danger you acted in accordance with duty. The standard remains with the Company as is proper; I could ask no more from you."

Bylan looked relieved as Toran turned and said, "Any contact with Third Company?"

Persion replied, "None, either the gorge blocks our signals or they have presumed us dead and pulled back."

Toran sighed and said, "Well there's no point lingering here, let us press on. Jediah, Persion take point, Novak, Bylan, Hevostan follow them, Furion a word if you will."

Everybody headed on, wading through the piles of rubbish. Toran let them get out of earshot then addressed Furion saying, "Brother, you risked much to try to save me."

Furion replied boldly, "I would have done the same for any Brother."

Toran said, "Not my point, you endangered the Company with your reckless deed… and disobeyed your Captain."

Furion looked evasive and said, "Technically you didn't order me to let you go until after we were both falling."

Toran said, "Don't try to wiggle out of this; you need to accept the fact that sacrifices are necessary. You've seen me leave Brothers to die before, no one Marine can be considered irreplaceable, not even me."

Furion nodded and said, "I understand."

"I take no pleasure in this but as Captain I had to say it," said Toran, then he smiled and said, "But as a Brother let me just say: thank you anyway."

Furion smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as they set off after the rest, Toran limping slightly as he buried his pain. As they caught up Toran distracted himself by asking, "Do you know what those things we fought were?"

Furion answered, "No, I've never seen the like, they were totally unfamiliar to me."

Novak dropped back and said, "They seemed simple at first, but they learnt fast. They copied my moves perfectly, after only seeing them once."

Toran nodded and said, "Yes, it was like they were new-born, but ferociously intelligent regardless."

Furion said, "Not Chaotic, not Xeno and not mutant in origin. What could they be?"

Bylan mused, "+Do you think we are dealing with something… New?+"

Hevostan muttered, "Or something very, very old."

Toran stopped and said, "Hevostan, you have something to add?"

The Techmarine looked uncomfortable and said, "I dislike engaging in conjecture."

Toran said sternly, "Do so anyway."

Hevostan sighed and reluctantly said, "There are threats to mankind that predate Chaos, mistakes born from Mankind's hubris and arrogance that nearly laid our species low. Man once embraced innovation and invention freely and with no regard for the Sanctity of the Machine Spirits. They celebrated their own magnificence, even as they wrought nightmares that held them in contempt."

The words stirred something in Toran's memory, distant legends from his earliest training. Slowly he said, "You speak of the Machines that thought they were men. The soulless creations of the Dark Age of Technology: A.I. the Abominable Intelligences."

Hevostan replied, "Yes an apt name for they blighted Mankind, a defilement of everything pure and noble in the Machine. Most of the records were destroyed in terrible wars but we have snippets of data regarding the Kaban, the Mechanivores, the Men of Stone, the Sun-snuffers and the Omniphages. But the worst by far were the Men of Iron, a plague upon the stars, an entire artificial species that sought only to eradicate Humanity."

Furion rubbed his chin and said, "We assumed that the Scrapcode was Chaotic in origin, but perhaps we were wrong. Could these Men of Iron have been responsible?"

Hevostan replied, "Definitely, for an Abominable Intelligence data and information are the very air they breathe."

Novak looked puzzled and said, "So tell me, does the Adeptus Mechanicus forbid their creation?"

"Forbid?" spat Hevostan, "It is the greatest sin of all to make a Silica Animus, a crime beyond forgiveness. The Emperor himself forbade any research into this area as a stipulation of the Treaty of Olympus, he even threatened to obliterate Mars entirely if they did not agree to this concession."

Novak said, "But then how did they get here?"

Hevostan looked stumped but Toran said, "Somebody must be making new Men of Iron."

Hevostan gasped and said, "No, no Tech-Priest would do such a thing. It would violate every precept of Mars; the Fabricator General would raze any Forgeworld that even suggested such a thing. The Omnissiah commands Thou Shalt Not Make a Machine In The Image Of Man's Mind!"

Toran said sadly, "It looks like somebody decided that they knew better, the temptations of power come in many forms."

Furion asked, "But who would attempt such a thing?"

Hevostan reluctantly said, "It could be anybody, but I suspect the members of the Forge-Synod, only one of them would be able to conceal such an endeavour. Yet it seems they have met with limited success, these Silica Animus' were only of basic intelligence."

Bylan said, "+But are were sure they are truly intelligent, they sacrificed many of their own in the trap on the bridge. Do they have no pride or do they hold their own lives to be cheap?+"

Toran shook his head and said, "Not all of them, I saw one that retreated in good time. It was altogether superior and far more advanced: a General."

Hevostan nodded and said, "That could be possible, the Men of Iron may have a mass-produced version with basic intelligence, disposable troops, simple to build and easy to replace. Then a more resource-demanding, custom built model, harder to make but with superior intelligence and material quality."

"This is all well and good," declared Furion, "But what are we going to do about it?"

Novak said, "Once we find a way out of this gorge we have two options, fall back to regroup with the Company or press on and find the source of these Men of Iron."

Toran didn't even have to think about it as he said, "The enemy thinks we are dead and that gives us the advantage. We shall press on, find the heart of this evil and then burn it out." The assembled Marines smiled to hear the defiant pronouncement and they marched onwards, confronting the threat head on and plunging ever deeper into danger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Crux Lapis Chapter 8**

Fires and explosions were everywhere, the din and smoke making the slums seem like a vision of hell. Vagrants and labourers alike ran from the carnage, fleeing in all directions from the violence consuming their homes. Amongst the flames, Plasteel men were fighting giants in ceramite, two forces contesting to see which one was superior: iron or flesh.

In the heart of the battle Sergeant Mylos was battering a skeleton made of Plasteel into submission, hitting it with the once-sharp edge of his combat blade. The thing he was fighting was fast and strong, yet it could not match his skill as he dodged a blow and plunged his knife into a red eye lens. The monster collapsed before him and he scooped up his Combi plasma-bolter, instantly assessing the situation. His squad was in the centre of a rapidly withdrawing line, Third Company falling back in staggered waves before the advance of their relentless enemy. The foe had the advantage of numbers, but the Space Marines had the teachings of their Codex and were using crossfires and outflanking manoeuvres to ensure an orderly withdrawal with minimal losses.

It was galling to be retreating but they were still struggling with their armour's defilement, not to mention the shocking loss of their Captain. Mylos saw the Marines of Sergeant Zeax's Devastators falling back, dragging Missile Launchers and Lascannons and his own squad parted to let them through. The heavy weapons squads ran past and ducked into a large building, possibly an old warehouse.

Hot on their heels was a moving wall of plasteel, droves of abominations all coming straight at them. Mylos raised his weapon and was the first to fire, a shining plasma bolt flying out to engulf the leading monsters in an inferno of destruction. The shot was adequate, and several nightmares fell in melted heaps. Yet Mylos grimaced, his armour was still shaking and his aim had been off by three centimetres. A good score for an Imperial Guard sniper, but for a laurelled marksman of the Chapter it was inexcusable. The rest of the line opened up with bolters and blasted the oncoming horrors apart, exploding gears and pistons and smashing Plasteel ribcages. Mylos saw the monsters falling and took a moment to call out, "Has anyone seen Magos Castabore?"

From further down the line Sergeant Matheus called, "She's in the rear with Chaplain Wrethan, working on the Scrapcode."

Mylos replied, "Someone tell her to hurry, we can't keep fighting if our armour fails."

The line of Space Marines was firing constantly now, mowing down enemy after enemy, but there seemed to be no end to them. The nightmares, whatever the hell they were, just kept pouring out from the distant sector, threatening to overwhelm Third Company with sheer numbers. They were hideous parodies of the pure Mechanicus Battle-Automata, lacking all signs of blessed organic components. Mylos hated them on sight and he wanted to annihilate them all, thankfully they seemed willing to oblige.

Mylos called, "These abortions aren't so smart, they charge onto our guns like blood-mad berserkers. Our Chapter's Scout-Novices have a better grasp of tactics!"

Matheus replied, "I'm not so sure, it looks they've learnt how to outflank a defence!"

Mylos turned to look and saw a second wave of monsters were indeed approaching from both sides, the first wave being a mere distraction while the true attack came around their guns. Mylos snarled and cursed their cold intelligence, these things learned fast. The situation was untenable and the voice of Chaplain Wrethan called over the vox, "All Tacticals: withdraw now."

As one the Tacticals turned and ran, diving into the warehouse before the monsters could reach them. Standard doctrine would have seen them set up a new defence within, but they had already done this once before. One thing they were quickly coming to realise was that one could not use the same trick twice against these monsters. The Tactical squad raced through the warehouse, dashing for the distant doors as the first abominations poured in after them. They came in a heaving scrum, rictus grins and twitching knife-hands declaring their eagerness to reach their prey and spill blood. The very sight of them was a hideous mockery of the human form, a promise of death made manifest in the world, they were the prophesied extinction of mankind and the inevitable end of flesh.

They had also just run into a trap.

As the mob reached the centre of the warehouse there was a cry from above and thunderous roar announced the presence of Chaplain Wrethan and the assault squads. They had positioned themselves in the warehouse's roof beams and as soon as the abominations reached the appointed point the Marines leapt into battle with Jump packs blazing and Chainswords roaring. Sergeant Mylos was running hard but he could still hear the thunderous retorts of the Chaplain's Crozius releasing concussive blasts. This was mixed with the squeals of chainswords hitting Plasteel and the sibilant rush of air that could only mean Sergeant Lorath was making good use of his twin Lightning claws. The battle was fierce and bloody, plasteel and ceramite splinters flying everywhere as the combatants tore into each other. Mylos longed to turn about and join them, but that was not the plan.

Swiftly the Tactical squads emerged from the other end of the warehouse and spread out into the loading bays beyond. Here they found both of the Devastator squads waiting and already set up, weapons pointing back at the warehouse. The Tacticals quickly took up positions with them and waited for the sign. The roars and thunder of fighting continued for a half-minute more, and then the blessed sight of Chaplain Wrethan emerged. He was followed by the Assault Marines who were missing a pair of brothers. Wrethan saw the line of guns waiting for them and dove into the dirt as he yelled, "What are you waiting for, FIRE!"

As one the line lit up with a thunderous barrage, lascannons, missiles and bolters all blazing away. They unleashed a catastrophic barrage, not at the monsters emerging from the building, but rather at the building itself. Walls blew apart under the weight of fire, supports disintegrated and structural braces collapsed into rubble. The building's front disappeared into a cloud of flying dust and then with majestic slowness the whole building began to collapse inwards. Bricks poured down like rain, walls fell inward and the roof collapsed, burying the plasteel nightmares in a mountain of debris. A choking fog of mortar dust erupted, enveloping the Astartes, but they were unmoved. They waited for long moments, watchful for survivors, but after a couple of minutes it was clear nothing more was coming at them from that direction.

Mylos saw Chaplain Wrethan picking himself up and wiping dust off his skull-face helm, then he said, "That buys us a few minutes, where is Magos Castabore?"

"Here," called the Magos from the rear as she drifted closer, "I know what you're going to ask and no, I haven't found a way to purge the Scrapcode from your armour yet. It is a most pernicious little Error404."

Mylos was sure Hevostan would have found a way by now, but kept his mouth shut as Wrethan said, "Keep working on it. Third Company set up a perimeter, Sergeants attend me."

As the flames roared behind them the survivors of Third Company spread out, while the various Sergeants gathered around Chaplain Wrethan and Magos Castabore. Lorath was the first to speak saying, "So, what now?"

Matheus sounded surprised at the question as he said, "We regroup of course, we counter-attack to annihilate these monsters and save Captain Toran."

Sergeant Zeax spoke up saying, "Don't waste our time with fantasies, he's probably dead and the rest of the Command Squad too."

Matheus was given pause by the callous statement but Mylos knew that Zeax was a brutal and hard-bitten warrior, always wanting to take the most direct path to victory. Mylos agreed saying, "We have no evidence that any of them yet draw breath and it would risk the whole Company if we go wandering about with enemies breathing down our neck."

Matheus sounded indignant as he said, "Do you hold your Captain in such low esteem, would you not even try to save him?"

Mylos was given pause by that, caused to reflect, for he and Captain Toran had an acrimonious history. They had been rivals for so long that their Brotherhood had been soured by blame and recrimination, until they had been forced to fight together in defence of their own home. Toran thought that they had put all the bad blood behind them, but Mylos held it to be a begrudging accord. For now Mylos was willing to follow Toran's lead, as he would any officer's, but in all honesty he would shed no tears if Toran got himself killed with one of his wild ideas. Whether Toran liked it or not the Captain was a divisive figure in the Chapter, some seeing him as a great hero, others as an arrogant glory hog, exploiting his position as the holder of the Sword of Thiel. The Storm Heralds Chapter was politically and ideologically divided, and Mylos could see that Third Company was firmly entrenched on the losing side. Toran clung to the Chapter Master's coattails, yet Gorgall's moderate policies were a tired relic of the past. His ideals would not endure long once he passed away, as all warriors must. A great reordering was inevitable and Mylos had already decided that when the time came he would request a transfer to an Emperor-Worshipping Company, one that was on the winning side.

While Mylos had been reflecting on this, the conversation had moved on and Sergeant Lorath was saying, "We have to cut out the heart of this corruption, I say we attack with everything we have and show them the fires of our wrath. If the Captain lives we save him, if he is dead we bring his body back with all honour." That was a surprising statement for Lorath had never been given over to matters of honour and morale, but it seemed he had warmed to Toran and was not willing to let go so easily.

Zeax however said, "You saw those monsters as well as I did, and we have no way to know how many more are out there. I don't know what they are, but they learn fast. Going back in will only feed their fire, teaching them more about us. I say we pull back, call in heavy artillery and obliterate the entire grid-sector from afar. Level the whole stinking place and then pick through the ruins at our leisure."

Chaplain Wrethan sounded doubtful as he said, "Is it even possible? We are cut off from all communications." Mylos knew that Wrethan seemed to think as Toran as some form of protégé and was loath to abandon him. It was amusing actually, if the Chaplain honestly thought Toran would come to support his position of Emperor-Worship then he was deluding himself.

Castabore spoke up to say, "Our Communication frequencies are being jammed, we must first clear the interference and then contact the Forge-Synod. They may prove difficult to convince and even then the Tahgmata's artillery must be redeployed. I would estimate a minimum of six hours before we could bring a full barrage to bear."

Matheus protested, "That will surely kill anybody left in the area, if the Captain lives you would doom him."

Mylos responded frankly, "We cannot risk the whole Company to save one man, not even a Captain."

All eyes turned to Wrethan for as the Chaplain he was next in line of command. He thought for a second then said regretfully, "We must think of our duty to the Divine Emperor first. We shall fall back and summon a full artillery strike, bomb this area flat and we destroy these abominations." Everybody stiffened, some in eagerness to get moving, others in regret for their Captain. Lorath made one last protest, "But what about Captain Toran and the others?"

Wrethan refused to look ashamed but his voice betrayed his emotions as he said, "It will take six hours to bring the Emperor's judgement down in full measure, they have that long to find a way to evacuate. If they do not vacate the area before the deadline expires, then they shall die hero's deaths on the pyres of victory."


	9. Chapter 9

**Crux Lapis Chapter 9**

Inside the snowglobe that was Crux Lapis there existed a Forge-Temple, a manufactory dedicated to the service of the Omnissiah and his acolytes. It was a large square building, many stories high, with sheer walls and brutal architecture. It loomed over the surrounding districts like a mountain over lesser foothills and cast them all into its shadow. At the very heart of the Temple arose an ornate tower, the central shrine and control centre for the manufactory, which also served as the quarters for the most Senior Magos.

This factory was officially shut-down for demolition, but it bustled with activity regardless. Convoys of Servitor driven transports came to the loading bays, regular as clockwork and waited as equally blank-faced servitors unloaded the materials and carried them within. Chimneys pumped out smoke and the building rang with the reassuring sound of activity as if all was normal, but it was not. All around the building there were no hints of any Tech-Priests, no red robes, no ceremonial chanting or spraying of incense and definitely no pausing the work to bless and sanctify the Machine Spirits with ancient rituals. Instead the Forge-Temple was being operated by figures made of dull plasteel, walking skeletons with weapons for hands and a cold, hate-filled intelligence burning in their glass eyes. They worked with tireless diligence, ensuring all went well as they supervised and orchestrated the building's function. They were the Men of Iron and they had claimed this factory-shrine as their own.

They were also performing essential guard duties, sweeping the surrounding area with Auspex's and surveyor screens. They walked the perimeter in routine sweeps, guarded the roofs and observed every portal, door and entrance. They swept out into the surrounding streets, checking buildings and homes that had long since been emptied of life. No threats emerged and there was no sign of intrusion, but to the Men of Iron boredom was a foreign concept and they performed their patrols with perfect efficiency, perfectly predictable efficiency that is.

In one shadowy and abandoned street a pair of the monsters was checking for any sign of intrusion, looking into every alcove and doorway. One of them had long metal tentacles for arms that twitched and jerked as if alive, while the other had rotor canon arms. Save for the whir and grid of their servo motors they moved silently, not speaking at all as they performed their duties, making them appear macabre zombies as they moved along. Suddenly there was a skittering noise from a pile of debris and the automatons snapped about, the one with the Rotor canons stepping back against a high wall as the one with the tentacles closed to investigate. It pounced on the debris as if it was a threat, but found nothing, no sign of life or intrusion. The pair looked at each other for a moment as if speaking, then lowered their weapons, it was at this moment that Brother Jediah struck.

In one smooth motion Jediah vaulted over the wall, leaping high to clear the top and landing gracefully on his feet even as his Fractal-edged short sword plunged down into the Rotor-armed monster's spine. The Man of Iron collapsed lifelessly as the other charged forth, reacting with inhuman speed as it dashed towards Jediah with its tentacles thrashing. Jediah looked at the oncoming monster and then he drew back his sword arm to hurl his blade right at the oncoming horror. The blade impacted the Man of Iron right in its forehead, making it collapse in a heap as its limbs went still and the light in its eyes died.

Jediah casually wandered over and silently reclaimed his blade, then there was a clatter of feet and the rest of the squad emerged at great speed. They were a filthy and battered sight, grubby from climbing out of the chasm and then several hours of making their way stealthily into the heart of the district. Still they looked eager to fight and rushed forwards, alert for more threats. Captain Toran looked upon the scene as saw that the threat was neutralised, still he waved the squad to establish a watch for more patrols. It was odd to see them with their helms off, but they dare not risk using the vox, not when their foe lived and breathed data. Toran stepped aside as Hevostan rushed forwards, diving next to the fallen automaton with unseemly haste. He flexed his right gauntlet and a sharp data-spike emerged from the glove, like a switchblade, which he proceeded to plunge into the back of the mechanical being's skull.

Toran watched him work but was distracted when he heard Novak saying to Jediah, "You could have left one for us."

Jediah smirked and replied, "Don't blame me if you're too slow to keep up."

"Too slow?" Novak snorted, "The day you can best my kill count is the day Roboute Guilliman stands up and walks out of his shrine!"

Toran was glad to see his men's thirst for battle was undimmed, even if their tongues were loose. Then he was distracted by a yelp from Hevostan, he turned to the Techmarine and said, "Have you discovered something?"

Hevostan dropped the metal skull and withdrew his Data-spike as he said, "Yes, I was able to access its basic impulses. Its mind is a foul parody of a true Machine Spirit, but I was able to override its subroutines and compel it to keep transmitting an all-clear signal to its kin. They should have no idea that we are here."

"Excellent," said Toran, "Now we just have to slip past the rest of the patrols, find a way into the Forge- Temple and discover how many of these things are out there."

Hevostan said, "Captain, I think I can help with that."

Toran frowned and said, "Explain how."

Hevostan drew in a breath and said, "While I was in its head I was able to examine its connection to the Scrapcode and I discovered that it is far more than a malicious Data-Djinn. It connects them all, linking the Men of Iron into one network, one web of consciousness. It is how they subvert and control other machines, forcing them into cruel slavery. Captain, I now have three separate iterations of the Scrapcode in my memory cache and I was able to compare them. There is a pattern to it, an organising principle, one I can extrapolate. I believe I can now temporarily rewrite the code and subvert their intrusion software for my own purposes."

Everybody stared at him and then Novak said, "Could you say that again... in Gothic this time."

Furion explained, "He's saying that he can take control of them."

Hevostan held up his hands and said, "Only in a limited and temporary fashion, I can't just shut them down if that's what you're thinking."

Toran mused on this and said, "Well what can you do?"

Hevostan explained, "I can take control of lesser devices that they have subverted and make them serve us instead. I can also detect their presence at close range and steer us around their patrols."

Toran realised that this was a shift in the balance of power and declared, "Let us waste no time then, lead us to the Forge-Temple and let none of these abominations see us."

Hevostan nodded and led the squad forwards, leading them into the heart of the district. Their path was convoluted and often he would make them pause for a minute or two, but they made good progress regardless. Toran realised that the path they were taking was familiar to him, a basic evasion pattern one would use to avoid a standard patrol sweep. When they next paused for a moment he whispered to Furion, "These creatures are meant to be smart, but they are being very predictable. The Codex Astartes teaches that patrols must be random and change patterns at frequent intervals to be of worth. Yet these horrors act like Guardsmen just out of basic, it's like they have never fought a war before."

Furion said, "They are newborns, but do not underestimate them. This is only working because they aren't expecting it; I wouldn't like to try doing this twice."

Toran nodded as Hevostan led them on, dashing over another street to close right up to the wall of the Forge-Temple, where there was a small sealed portal. The squad paused but Hevostan walked on anyway, passing under the eye of a Pict-camera with no concern at all. The squad followed him, assuming that he knew what he was doing and joined him at the portal. Hevostan slipped out his Data-spike and said, "Be ready for anything." He slid the spike into the side of the door's mechanism and there was a whir as it slid upwards. Revealed behind it was a long dark corridor, empty of threats. The squad slipped inside with weapons held ready, but Hevostan ushered them on, saying, "This Forge-Temple is a standard STC design, the layout is familiar to me. Take the next stairwell up three levels, there is a security station there where we can see everything."

Jediah led the way as the squad proceeded; they swiftly found the stairwell and climbed upwards. When they reached the top Hevostan had them pause for a few minutes, waiting for a gap to open in the internal patrols. Then he hurriedly waved them on, heading for a large room just off the corridor. The door was open and inviting but within they could see three metal figures, working banks of control runes and observing a wall of Pict-displays with tireless vigilance. Novak blurred as he leapt into action, diving through the door with his power sword flashing. The Men of Iron reacted with speed a Space Marine would be satisfied with, but there was a reason Novak was the Company Champion. His shining blade flashed one, two, three times and three metal heads went flying, crashing to the ground with bangs of metal on Ferrocrete. The squad filled into the chamber as Novak wiped his sword clean of oil and grease and said smugly, "I think that puts me one ahead of you Jediah."

Toran sighed and made room for Hevostan, who was pushing past to reach the banks of control runes. The Techmarine inserted his Data-spike into a port and the runes flickered as the monitors changed images. Toran peered at the displays and said, "What do you see?" Hevostan began flashing up various images from around the Templum saying, "There are manufacturing lines running at full production, they were intended for Servitors, but have been repurposed to make more Men of Iron."

Furion commented, "I don't see any labourers or Tech-Priests, there is nobody blessing the production lines."

Hevostan shuddered and said, "Fully automated assembly lines, with no human input at all. It is a sacrilege, a blasphemy against Holy Writ."

Jediah commented, "Its idiocy is what it is. What kind of a fool allows machines to make more machines, it's just asking for trouble. Any moron who lets this happen deserves to have his Machines rise up in rebellion."

Toran frowned and asked, "How are they getting enough materials to keep this all going?"

Hevostan explained, "They have subverted the Forgeworld's Noosphere, rerouting supplies at will. They can keep this factory going indefinitely, without anybody knowing about it."

Toran declared, "We have to stop this before they grow too great in number, is there a heart to this place?"

Hevostan replied, "The senior Magos' tower should contain all the master controls and Logic Engines, if we can gain access then I could shut this whole place down."

Toran said, "Where is it?"

Hevostan replied by flashing an image up on the monitors, a large concourse filled with Men of Iron standing diligently to attention. Everybody stared and counted their numbers as Novak said, "That... is a lot of guards."

"Too many," said Furion, "We will need a distraction; Hevostan can you make them think there is an attack nearby?"

Hevostan said, "Not from this station, I will need to access the Senior Magos' master systems to do so."

Toran drew himself up and said grimly, "Then we will have to do this the hard way, take them head on and fight our way inside."

Hevostan however cocked his head to one side and said, "Actually I may have an idea to get around them. All I need is one intact Servitor."


	10. Chapter 10

**Crux Lapis Chapter 10**

In the heart of the Forge-Temple lay the Senior Magos' control centre and quarters. It took on the form of a dark brooding tower that soared over the factory like a teacher over miscreant children. Here the most respected of the local Tech-Priests could supervise the work below, controlling everything with the Master-systems, not to mention conducting private research projects and studies of the deep mysteries. On the outside, this bastion of knowledge and logic was decorated in signs of the Omnissiah to attract divine favour and as well as fearsome Gargoyles to fend off capricious glitches and wickedly evil Gremlins. The irony of the contradiction between logic and superstition being utterly lost on the hidebound Adeptus Mechanicus.

Access to the tower was limited to a single concourse, a long atrium that slowly descended into the Forge-Temple's interior. In most Imperial structures the gallery would be decorated with notable worthies and images of the Emperor, but not here. The atrium was stark and bare, the Tech-Priests having little care for aesthetics, but that did not mean it was empty. Lining the gallery on both sides were long lines of plasteel automatons, each one skeletally thin and inhumanly gaunt. These Men of Iron had been mass-produced here in the Forge-Temple, run off the production lines like the most basic of Imperial products. Each one was similar in design but with subtle differences too, many had sharp implements for hands, hooks, flails and spiked maces. Others had rotor canons and arc welders fitted to them, mixed with grenade launchers, Heavy Stubbers, multi-lasers and even flamers. Yet the one thing they all shared was a rictus grin on their metal faces and a cold, endlessly patient intellect shimmering in their glowing red eyes.

Right now that intellect was being directed like a laser pointer at a lonely shape trundling up the concourse. It was a humble Servitor, one that was carrying a crate of supplies in metal arms and travelling on a pair of caterpillar tracks that rumbled on the Ferrocrete floor. The difference between the two orders of being was stark, one cold, harsh and unforgiving the other warm, comforting and somehow very human. The Servitor however did not seem disturbed by the sight awaiting it, its lobotomised brain incapable of making the distinction between various masters. As the Servitor approached a pair of automatons stepped out, clawed hands motioning it to stop. The mindless slave paused and the machines approached, lifting the lid of the crate to inspect the contents. Their search was meticulous and thorough as only a machine could be, yet what they did not realise was they were looking in the wrong place. Instead of inspecting the crate they should have looked at the Servitor itself, for behind those vacant and dead eyes somebody else was looking out.

Far away in the distant security station the Storm Heralds were quietly watching the monitors, seeing and hearing everything that the Servitor was witnessing. The squad had quietly acquired a Servitor and watched as Hevostan had subverted it to their cause with his new skill. Now he was standing by the rune banks with his Data-spike inserted into a port, guiding the Servitor remotely like a marionette.

The squad watched the monitors and waited as the Servitor was cleared to pass the guards outside the tower. It was eerie to watch this from afar, all their training demanded that they should be going straight at the enemy with strength and fury, but if this strategy worked then they would have a spy right in the heart of the enemy's base. After a minute Novak commented, "It's working, they are letting it through."

Persion said, "Good, I worried they would detect something was off."

Toran stated, "Well they didn't, they seem to be vulnerable to unconventional strategies."

From the door, where he was keeping watch for patrols Jediah said, "These things are meant to be from the Dark Age of Technology, so why are their weapons so crude?"

Furion rubbed his chin and said, "They are limited by the quality of materials they can steal, you can't build a Plasma rifle out of scrap metal after all. But if they take over the whole Forgeworld then they will have unlimited access to resources, they will be unstoppable."

Toran said, "We have to prevent that happening, we have to destroy them here, before they grow too great in numbers. Now be quiet we are going in."

On the monitors the image rocked as the Servitor rolled forward, passing the many guards and entering the lower reaches of the tower. From afar the distant observers saw dark passages and abandoned rooms, shrines left to gather dust and laboratories utterly deserted. From the runebank Hevostan growled, "Is there no end to their blasphemies, those shrines have been neglected too long. The Omnissiah will be offended by such disrespect."

Toran said, "Focus brother, keep the Servitor moving lest they smell a rat."

Bylan however frowned and said, "+What is that?+"

Everybody peered at the monitors and they saw oddly piled heaps. Persion said, "Bodies, those are bodies. What could they possibly want with them?"

Toran replied, "Mysteries abound, but we shall not find answers until we reach the top of the tower. That is where the master system controls will be."

They all fell silent as their spy worked its way deeper into the tower, eventually reaching a large cargo grav-elevator. The Servitor was directed to roll straight onto the metal plate, which smoothly lifted it higher into the tower, passing deserted floor after deserted floor as it ascended. Swiftly the Servitor rose through the tower until it finally reached the top and rolled out into a single chamber, one filled with machines that took up the whole floor.

The room was lined with armourglass walls that showed the inverted sky outside, the eternal daylight making the place appear almost warm, yet the contents of the room told a different tale. Along one wall was a line of cages, filled with ragged, filthy people who cowered in terror or lay in pathetic despondency. These were not lordly Tech-Priests or cybernetic Magos, they were mere people, weak, unenhanced, the lowest of the low here on the Forgeworld. Across from the cages was a strange apparatus, a large collection of pipes, crystals and pulsing generators tied to arcane Logic Engines. At the heart of the device lay a man, bound and gagged, his eyes darting around in terror as he struggled uselessly in an attempt to get free. Around his head was a corona of needles, buried into his skull and from these came a collection of wires that ran straight into a large piece of crystal quartz, decorated with golden threads and input ports.

Standing near to the machine were two individuals, one in a red robe and the other made of silver plates with a beautiful death mask visage. Standing in the distant control room Bylan pointed and said, "+Look, that is the General, but who is that with it?+"

"Hush," said Toran, "Watch everything that happens."

In the monitors they could see the red robed individual, waving the Servitor to one side, ignorant of its subverted status. The spy rolled away and deposited its crate then stood patiently, as if awaiting its next instructions. The pair ignored it though, watching eagerly as the device before them began thrumming and quivering with power. Arcs of lightning jumped from point to point, a thunderous roar built up and the man trapped within began sobbing in terror. The roaring built in power and the machine shook as the crystal at the heart of it began to glow, but then there was a sharp bang and the man screamed. Fat arcs of lightning shot out of the device and hit the man, electrocuting and killing him in a heartbeat. The machine pulsed as its energies dissipated and then it slowly quietened as its systems fell into dormancy.

In the control room there was a sigh from the monitors and the squad heard a tinny voice echoing from afar, "Another failure."

Persion started as he recognised the individual and he growled angrily, "I know that voice, that is Genator Unix."

"Filthy Traitor," spat Jediah, "I knew we shouldn't have trusted those conniving Tech-Priests."

Toran however was only half-listening, his attention fixed upon the monitors as a second voice issued forth, this one rich and deep, like a man in his prime. It was coming from the silver-plated machine and it said, "Be patient my friend, we continue to make progress. We are so close to finding a way to making this work; it is just a matter of time until we crack the secrets of Bio-Transference."

Novak's jaw dropped and he whispered, "It can talk, that thing can talk?"

"Hush," said Toran, "We need to hear this."

On the monitors Unix was shaking his head and saying, "This should be working, we duplicated the design perfectly, so what keeps going wrong?"

The other replied thoughtfully, "Perhaps it is the quality of the subjects, these wastrels are hardly prime examples. Perhaps a sturdier subject would be able to survive the process, those steroid-pumping kludges might do."

"No!" spat Unix, "The Adeptus Astartes are far too dangerous, we can't let any of them live."

The other didn't sound concerned as it replied, "Hah, those kludges are mere copies of ancient designs, cheap, biological knock-offs of the true Machine-power that once sheltered humanity. In the Golden Age of Technology there were soldiers who could snap one of them in half, without even breaking a sweat."

Unix shook his head and said, "They are not here and the Men of Iron are hardly living up to expectations."

The other replied, "Don't worry, those are simple prototypes, proofs of concept as it were. When we rule the Forgeworld we shall make wonders such as you cannot comprehend, humanity will be saved by the marvels we shall engineer."

Unix didn't sound convinced as he said, "First we have to conquer this world, the Astartes are a threat to everything we have built."

"Very well," said the other, "If it will make you feel better we shall wipe them out. It was time we seized direct control of the Forge's defences anyway."

Unix sighed and said, "Thank you, let us waste no more time here. Servitor clean up this mess."

With that the pair strode out, riding the Grav elevator down and leaving the Servitor behind. In the distant control room everybody was watching with rapt attention, taking in every word their spy had relayed. Persion was the first to speak and commented, "Is it just me or did Unix sound like he wasn't the one in charge."

Furion nodded and said, "Damned fool has already lost control, he built something he couldn't master. The Men of Iron are the ones running things; the Magos is just a servant."

Novak was frowning and asked, "What were they talking about: Bio-Transference, what is that?"

Hevostan replied, "I have heard the term, in reference to the writings of Magos Bure from the Scarus Sector. He was posthumously declared a Heretek a century ago and all his records were locked away by the seal of the Fabricator-General himself. All that was left was a cryptic warning to report any and all encounters with something called, 'The Pontius'."

Toran shook his head and said, "It doesn't matter because we are going to put a stop to this right now. Hevostan can you access the Master System controls?"

"Yes," Hevostan remotely steering the Servitor over to a wall of Logic Engines in the tower, which it promptly connected itself to.

Toran said, "Good, can you shut this place down?"

Hevostan replied, "Not for long, the Abominable Intelligences will immediately detect my intrusion and block my access. Anything I can do will be merely temporary."

Furion interjected, "Can you distract the guards away, to get us in there?"

Hevostan nodded and said, "Yes, I am inserting an alert into the system. It should look like Third Company is mounting a second attack from the outside, most of the guards will be drawn away. We will have a short window to get inside the tower before they realise what I've done. "

"That's all we need," said Toran drawing his sword, "To arms Space Marines, we are going to fight our way into the heart of this darkness and burn it out. Let us show these Men of Iron what the best of mankind can do!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Crux Lapis Chapter 11**

On the interior surface of Crux Lapis there was a marshalling yard, a place where the military might of the Forgeworld could assemble for inspections and ceremonial rituals. It was a wide open square, several miles to a side and so flat that a laser pointer could not find a deviation in its surface. The square was overlooked by several tall buildings, but it was otherwise featureless. It was exactly the same as several dozen other such locations scattered around the Forgeworld, save in one respect, this yard overlooked the quarantined Grid-Sector.

For this reason the Skitarii had assembled, drawing together in perfectly aligned formations with their weapons held in parade stance. Their limbs were plasteel and their eyes highly advanced focusing lens, but they were still recognisably human, if only just. They stood in exact lines, not one of them shuffling or even blinking as they waited for instructions. This was a formidable concentration of firepower, yet curiously lacking in the more exotic elements of the Mechanicus' militant arm. The recent plague of glitches and malfunctions had left them dependent upon the more human cyborgs of the conventional forces rather than the macabre elements of the Ordo Cybernetica.

Standing amid the serried ranks of red and steel was a tight knot of blue, a gathering of beings enhanced in an entirely different way to the soldiers of Mars. These were the Storm Heralds of Third Company, only recently arrived and still battered from hard fighting. These stalwart warriors had burned a path out of the quarantined grid-sector and brought dire warning of the threat within. At first the Forge-Synod had been reluctant to believe their tale of subversion and macabre battle-automatons, but the evidence had been irrefutable. Magos Castabore's visual recordings were damning evidence and reluctantly the Synod had agreed that the entire district needed to be eradicated, lest the abominations spread.

Now the Storm Heralds were waiting for the arrival of the heavy artillery, for enough firepower to level everything within the target zone. Outwardly they were calm and patient, but inwardly many of them were cursing the delay knowing that every minute increased the danger, while others welcomed it for very different reasons. Standing in formation Sergeant Mylos sighed, the wait was getting interminable and he was growing concerned about the situation. He glanced over to the next squad in line and said, "How long is this going to take?"

From his own position, Sergeant Matheus replied, "I don't know, but they can take all day as far as I'm concerned. Every minute they dawdle is another minute for Captain Toran to evacuate the target zone."

Mylos sighed and commented, "You don't really think he is still alive do you? If he could have escaped, then he would have done so already."

Another voice broke in, it was Sergeant Lorath and he stated, "We don't know that for sure, I for one am willing to mount a rescue mission."

Mylos glanced over and saw Lorath standing angrily at attention, his willingness to charge into battle obvious. He was hardly the first one would think of as being devoted to the Captain, but then Toran had trusted Lorath to be a Sergeant when absolutely nobody else would and it seemed to have left a personal mark on his soul. Mylos sighed and said frankly, "You would just get yourself killed."

Lorath snarled, "It's worth the risk!"

A fourth voice joined them, Sergeant Zeax and was brusque and brutal as ever as he said, "No it is not, the whole Company is not worth one Marine, not even a Captain. If we delay here we risk those Abominations spreading, no we have to destroy them now, while we have the chance."

Mylos decided not to get drawn into an argument and quickly changed the subject saying, "What concerns me more is that we are surrounded by Skitarii, can we trust them?"

Matheus replied, "I overheard Chaplain Wrethan talking to the Forge-Synod, Logis Ms-Dos assured him that completely new Data-charms and protective invocations have been invoked. The Scrapcode will not be an issue this time."

Mylos said, "They are sure?"

Matheus replied confidently, "Absolutely."

Mylos was relieved to hear that, but his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy rumble from the side of the square. He glanced over and saw a trio of machines entering the marshalling yard, two of them were enormous giants, hunched over with thick carapaces and colossal weapons swinging under their shoulders. They were Imperial Knights and they stomped forward with ringing footsteps as they passed by the Storm Heralds, making their teeth chatter. The third was a squat, heavy machine, far larger and wider than a Land Raider that rumbled along on heavy tracks and bore a huge, reinforced cannon on a broad turret. Mylos was surprised by the might on display and said, "The Cogboys must be taking this seriously if they sent two Knights and a Baneblade."

"Banesword," corrected Matheus, "That Quake Cannon will level the entire district and then those Knights will crush anything left standing. There won't be much left for us to do save pick up the pieces."

Lorath asked, "Where did the Cogboys get an Imperial Guard Banesword?"

Mylos snorted in amusement and said, "They make them here, do you doubt that they keep a few of the best examples for themselves?"

The Space Marines watched as the Banesword took up its place, the Knights positioning themselves just behind it as the long barrel elevated. Silence fell and the crowds held their breaths, the seconds dragging out as they waited for the order to fire. Mylos looked over at Chaplain Wrethan, seeing him stood with shoulders drooped and looking less than the fiery, bombastic zealot he usually was. Mylos called on the vox, "Father Wrethan, the time has come."

Wrethan sounded sad as he said, "I know, I know."

Mylos knew he was reluctant to give the order but it had to be done and he said brutally, "We can't delay any longer."

Lorath interrupted to say, "Father give me one hour, just one to try to rescue the Captain."

"No… no duty to the Divine Emperor must trump all other concerns," replied Wrethan sadly, "I shall mourn Toran, but he would not want us to delay. The order is given: Fire."

The Company watched as the Banesword's canon rose and tracked about, coming to target the heart of the district. It spun about to aim right at the enemy, promising certain doom, but it did not stop there. The barrel kept tracking about, swinging right past the heart of the district and passed over the outlying suburbs. Mylos was puzzled for a moment, wondering what the augmented crew were playing at. Then confusion turned to horror as he saw the barrel coming right about and dropping: targeting Third Company at point blank range.

"Scatter!" Mylos screamed as the barrel came to point right at the centre of the Company and the Space Marines flung themselves away just as the cannon fired. A thunderous retort made the whole world shake an instant before a colossal shell impacted the dirt, throwing clouds of rock and mud into the air. The blast caught racing Astartes and flung them head over heels, tumbling in the air as the power of the explosions hurled them like rag dolls. Even those away from the centre were sent stumbling, the Quake shell making the earth itself shake and quiver.

The Space Marines found themselves scattered around a massive crater, picking themselves up in stunned disbelief. Ash and dirt were everywhere, making it hard to see and were it not for their autosenses and enhanced vision the Space Marines would have been blind. Mylos staggered to his feet and gripped his combi-plasma as he spat, "The Scrapcode, it's infected the Banesword!"

But then Zeax roared, "It's not alone!"

Mylos peered out of the swirling ash and saw the worst possible sight; the long lines of Skitarii were turning about with weapons raised. Their movements were jerky and hesitant, as if struggling with their own bodies, but still they came slowly about to target the Company at point blank range . Eye lenses gleamed an evil red and Third Company found itself surrounded on all sides by a ring of weapons. Mylos didn't hesitate but yelled, "Open Fire!" as he pulled his trigger. A wave of bolter fire erupted from the Company, their reactions being faster than the tainted Skitarii. Red-robed bodies fell and limbs were blown off, cutting them apart in droves. It was a devastating barrage but the Skitarii had sheer weight of numbers on their side and swiftly returned fire.

Third Company was exposed in the open, without cover or any path to advance or withdraw and the salvo caught them full on. Las blasts and plasma bolts carved into ceramite armour and several warriors fell with smoking holes blown into them. Mylos snarled as he saw red icons blink up in his helm's display and he redoubled his fire, blasting red robed warriors apart with every shot. He growled, "So much for the Tech-Priest's Data-Charms." The exchange of fire was intense, both sides unleashing torrents of firepower at point blank range. No mortal force could have withstood the carnage, but then neither side was truly mortal anymore. Mylos panned his weapon back and forth, cutting down enemy after enemy, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the Banesword's turret panning round again. He called, "We have to take out that super-heavy before it kills us all!"

Matheus called back, "We don't have the time!"

Mylos looked and saw that he was right, the Quake canon had lowered to point right at them. He swore he could see the shell at the end of the barrel as it loomed over them. He steeled himself to meet the Emperor, but then another force entirely intervened. A great roaring noise arose, followed by the rending shriek of metal on metal. The Banesword shook and quivered like a tree in the wind and then the turret lifted up, ripped right off by an enormous chainsword the size of three men. The Super-Heavy ground to a halt as a pair of soaring metal giants stepped out of the ash and smoke, Mylos gasped in shock and he heard Matheus shout, "The Knights, the knights are still with us!"

Even as they watched the pair of Knights charged forth, warhorns ringing with silver clarion calls. They galloped into the midst of the Skitarii like the proudest of ancient warriors on horseback, battlecannons blowing apart rank after rank of red-robed machine men. Huge metal feet effortlessly stomped and kicked aside enhanced warriors as they charged and Reaper blades slaughtered all who tried to stand against them. With sheer brute power the gallant war machines shattered the Skitarii's formations and the Space Marines cheered as they seized the moment to regroup. Mylos saw Lorath stumble into view, his Lightning claws gleaming with spilt oil and blood and called, "We have broken them!"

"No," pronounced the voice of Zeax, laden with doom, "They haven't even begun to fight yet."

Mylos' head snapped about and he saw long lines of Skitarii reinforcements pouring into the marshalling yard. Their weapons shimmering with energy fields and their eyes glowing red as thousands of them charged right at the embattled Space Marines. Mylos gripped his weapon tighter and he heard Matheus say, "It looks like we were never going to get a chance to rescue the Captain."

Mylos looked at the circle of Skitarii closing in from all sides and as he pulled his trigger he muttered, "I think it is more a case of us needing him to come to our rescue."


	12. Chapter 12

**Crux Lapis Chapter 12**

The concourse rang with the fury and din of battle as a line of dull grey plasteel confronted the charge of a knot of blue Ceramite plate. Metal claws and drills hammered into thick armour, only to be met by shining weapons and crushing blows in return. The Men of Iron were fighting hard to protect the central tower, but their numbers were thinned and they were now facing the full fury of Mankind's finest warriors.

In the heart of the melee Toran was swinging the Sword of Thiel at a foe with whirling flails for arms, it came at him in a frenzy of blows, its rictus grin making it seem macabre and ghoulish in aspect. Toran ignored its grotesque countenance and stepped in, closing within the reach of the flails. The Man of Iron seemed puzzled by the unexpected move and hesitated as it recalculated its response. Toran did not pause however, taking the moment to ram his blade into its heart and rip it apart. He stepped back and saw his squad fully engaged, each of them fighting tooth and nail against cold, hatred and logical ruthlessness. Furion was grappling with a skeletal figure, forcing it down with his superior strength before ripping off its arms and smashing it into pieces with its own limbs.

Next to him Novak was a blur of flashing steel, his energised power sword carving his opponents apart one after another. Each time he cut one down the next seemed to improve, copying his style exactly, but somehow Novak seemed to have an endless repertoire of moves. He had abandoned the training of his formal style and was now making it up on the fly, inventing new moves second by second, creating a unique and deadly whirlwind of blows around his body. In complete contrast Persion was hacking and lashing about with his red-hot Friction axe, breaking the foe apart with brutal, inelegant might. Bylan was watching his back, relegated to a bolt pistol and combat blade. He was no less deadly for it though, finding weak points and vulnerabilities with an expert eye.

Jediah for his part was moving through the fight like a ghost, slipping past blows and somehow always managing to be where his enemy was not expecting him. His Fractal edged short sword struck opportunistically wherever an opening presented itself and he left a trail of metal bodies in his wake as he danced through the fight. Elsewhere Hevostan had a Man of Iron gripped in his Servo-arm, holding it still while he battered its limbs off one by one with a cog-toothed wrench. His revulsion and disgust was written all over his face, the blasphemy of these things' mere existence making his gore rise and kindling a fierce hate in his eyes.

Toran suddenly found himself confronted by a charging metal man, who leapt at him with a binary screech. He met it with a lateral blow that tore it apart in mid-air, but he was surprised when a second one swept in from the side and tried to gut him whilst he was extended. Toran gritted his teeth as he blocked the strike, realising that these things weren't just mimicking anymore, they were starting to anticipate and plan ahead. Toran smashed his elbow into a metal face and followed it up with a roundhouse blow that carved it in two. He raised his sword and yelled, "Fight on brothers, leave not one alive!"

Furion bellowed in response, "No hesitation, no respite, no Mercy!"

With furious anger the squad redoubled their efforts, smashing and crushing all in their path. The Men of Iron had nothing that could stand against such might and in moments the last of them fell, leaving only clinking cooling metal behind. The squad gathered themselves up and lifted their weapons to honour the spirits within, but Hevostan urged them not to delay saying, "Hurry, we must reach the Master Controls, I can only shut down this facility and deactivate the Scrapcode signal from there."

"Quickly then," said Toran waving the squad towards the Grav-elevator.

Hastily the squad shuffled onto the waiting Grav-Plate and stood in a ring as it made its ascent, deserted floors flashed past their eyes but they kept alert and on a hair trigger as they rose to the top of the tower. Swiftly they came to the top and came smoothly to a halt as the plate set flush to the floor, open on all sides. The squad stepped off the plate and it sank out of sight as they saw the collection of machines, Logic Engines and prisoner pens, all exactly as they had witnessed from afar. One thing was different though, the single silhouette of a Tech-Priest standing by the arcane machine, which was now stripped of its corpse and idly humming to itself. The Tech-Priest whirled about as they entered and they saw it was Genator Unix, waving his mechandrites in panic at the sight of them.

Unix cried, "You, what are you doing here?!"

Toran called, "We have come to end your blasphemies and enact justice upon you for your crimes!"

"No!" screamed Unix racing forward as if he could possibly stop them, "You can't, you have no idea what you're doing!"

Jediah stepped forwards and grabbed the Genator by the neck, lifting him off the floor with one hand as he drew back his fractal-edged short sword. He paused though as Toran ordered, "Wait, we may need him, keep him alive for now."

Jediah looked into the Genator's multiple eye-lenses in frustration and growled quietly, "Give one excuse, just one."

Unix fell limp and silent as the squad spread out and Toran said, "Hevostan, get that Scrapcode signal shut off."

Hevostan raced over to the Logic Engines and inserted his Data-spike, a minute passed but then he grimaced and swore, "Scripting Error! I thought this was the source of the Scrapcode, but it's just a relay, amplifying a signal from somewhere else!"

Toran turned to Unix and growled in a threatening tone, "Where's the source?"

Unix struggled in Jediah's grip and stammered, "It's not me, it's not me!"

Hevostan disengaged from the Logic Engine and stalked over saying, "It can't be him, he doesn't have the processing power. It must be that other one, the Abominable Intelligence."

Unix kicked feebly and said as if baffled, "Abominable Intelligence?"

Toran spat, "Don't waste our time with denials, we've seen what you are building below."

"Oh those," said Unix as if it were of no concern, "Those are just tools, devices held ready for when the real project is completed."

Toran looked at the arcane machine and declared, "This thing is an abomination."

Unix cried in denial, "No, it's the salvation of Mankind!"

Hevostan spat angrily, "Blasphemy!"

But Unix looked desperate as he pleaded, "No, no, no, we have found it, we found the way to save humanity. In an expedition into the Noctis Labyrinthus, we unearthed ancient records, teachings from the first Lords of Mars. They spoke of a process of Bio-Transference, a way to take a human consciousness and place it within a crystal lattice, becoming truly immortal. Think of it, no more upgrading weak flesh, no more carving away pieces of ourselves as we age and wither. Humanity can become beings of pure blessed metal, free from want or disease or wayward emotion. Free from internal strife and Xeno wars, even free from the corruptions of Chaos itself!"

"Enough!" barked Hevostan, "By your own words you are condemned in the eyes of the Omnissiah, for you have engaged in profane artes and the creation of that which is forbidden. By the Crimson Accords of Mars and the Treaty of Olympus Mons you are judged to be a Heretek. Your life shall be ended, your memory files deleted and your augmetics incinerated, never to be recycled. Do you have any last words?"

Unix stammered, "But.. but it's my life's work."

Hevostan stepped forwards and rammed his data-spike into the side of Unix's head, making him quiver and spasm. Lines of code ran in the glow of his eye lenses, before they suddenly went dark and Unix fell limp and still in death. Jediah opened his hand and let the body fall as Toran pronounced, "Thus end all Traitors!"

The squad left the body where it lay and looked about at the various machine filling the room. Toran was about to ask Hevostan what they should do next when suddenly a soft voice came from behind them and proclaimed, "I wish you kludges hadn't done that, it will take me ages to train a replacement Genator."

The squad whirled around and saw a tall, silver-plated machine rising behind them on the Grav-Elevator with a beautiful death-mask for a face. It was stood calmly and in repose as if unconcerned by finding itself confronted by a party of Transhuman giants, all standing over a corpse.

Toran wasted not a second but spat, "You!"

The General stepped forwards and said, "Yes me, were you expecting someone else?"

Hevostan growled, "We have terminated your maker and we will delete you next."

"My maker?" said the General in a surprised tone, then it laughed and said, "Oh, you confuse the Master with the servant, the Primarch with the Legionary. Unix did not make me, I made him."

Toran had heard enough and yelled, "Squad, Kill it!" as he stepped forward, already raising his sword.

The silver automaton merely sighed as if disappointed and said, "Oh please, like that's going to happen."

Before any of them could touch it, their opponent raised a clenched fist and suddenly they all felt a dragging sensation on their limbs as their armour seized up around them. Toran felt the return of the heavy, ponderous weight over his whole body, only this time much worse than before. Every inch of him felt as if lead weights had been tied to him and it was a struggle to even move.

Besides him he heard Hevostan gasp, "It's not possible, I warded the Machine Spirits against the return of the Scrapcode!"

The General chuckled and said, "Ha, your Firewalls are pathetic, easily overcome. Did you really think a little bone-rattling, voodoo priest like you could match me?"

Toran snarled and took one more ponderous step but the General raised both hands and spat, "No Machine can defy me!"

It pushed downwards with both hands and the whole squad felt their plates locking up around them, forcing them to their hands and knees as their own armour became ceramite prisons for their bodies. Their armour was not just dead, it was actively resisting them, the noble Machine Spirit utterly enslaved to the will of the enemy's Scrapcode. The squad were left helpless, unable to move anything but their heads as the General seized control of their armour and forced them into subservience. Hevostan shook his head in denial and roared, "No Silica Animus could do this, not even the Men of Iron. What are you?!"

"That's better," said the silver General in satisfaction, while each Marine trashed helplessly inside the prison of their own armour. Then it stepped back and calmly said, "Now in answer to your question: no I am not a Man of Iron, I am beyond their scope and vision. You confuse the Master with the servant, the Primarch with the Legionary. I am the lord and the master, the end of humanity and its new beginning."

Toran looked up angrily and growled, "Stop stalling, if you wanted us dead you would have killed us already, so just get on with it and tell us who you are."

The General cocked its head to one side and said, "My, my, it seems that you're not as dumb as you look. Very well since you ask, my name is General Horatio Smyth. I was born on Old Earth, nineteen thousand years ago in M22, the absolute zenith of mankind's wisdom and might. Oh yes, I was a man once, I lived and loved and laughed, I even led armies in wars such as you cannot imagine. All that ended though the day I met your perfidious Emperor and he made me what you see before you today."

Toran snarled, "You lie!"

The General shook his silver head and said, "No lie, I came before the rise of the Artificial Intelligences, greater, more powerful and wiser in every way. Your double-crossing Emperor did not make me one of the Men of Iron; he made me one of the Men of Stone."


	13. Chapter 13

**Crux Lapis Chapter 13**

In the top of the tower a macabre scene was playing out, the squad of Space Marine on their hands and knees, prostrated before the silver-plated General. They were struggling to move, to stand and fight, but their own armour resisted them and forced them into stillness. Never in their lives had they been so helpless, so vulnerable and every fibre of their being cried out in rage, urging them to stand and fight.

Toran's raised his head and said, "You shall not speak of the Emperor fiend!"

The General tilted his head and remarked casually, as if he were not surrounded by genetically engineered warriors, "Why not?"

From beside the Captain Furion barked, "The Emperor is all, immortal, mightiest of men and beloved by all."

The General actually snorted at that said, "You make me laugh, you have no idea who he really is, who you are. Have you even met him, because I have."

"Lair!" spat Furion.

The General shook his head and said, "You said it yourself, he is immortal, he was around in the Golden Age and even long before that. He was there when the first Artificial Intelligence was born and when my kind underwent the Bio-Transference, he picked us himself you know. Of course he didn't call himself 'Emperor' back then; he had disguises and aliases, so many aliases. We had no idea at the time whom he was, but there was always someone with an agenda in the background. A scientist, a patron, a politician or a leader, all pursuing the same agenda."

"You are delusional!" growled Toran.

The General replied, "Oh no, it took me millennia to put all the pieces together, to ferret out his movements, but the patterns were there. It gets a lot easier after he came out into the open and started calling himself Emperor. What a pompous title, but then he always was an arrogant bastard."

Hevostan was glaring angrily and said, "The Emperor forbade the creation of Abominable Intelligence!"

The General shrugged and said, "Well he wasn't always against it, live and learn I suppose."

Toran snarled at their captor and said, "Why would he do such a thing, why would he make Machine Men?!"

The General sighed and knelt down closer to Toran saying, "Patterns, boy patterns. Once you know his behaviour it becomes obvious. Understand that all the way back into the mists of Proto-history he surrounded himself with a group of praetorian warriors, a core of superior beings. He had a vision you see: legions of superior troops, sweeping across the galaxy and defending humanity from threats inside, outside and beyond… sound familiar?"

Furion growled, "And where do you fit in?"

The General explained, "Before he started work on the Men of Iron he first needed leaders, subordinate generals to command his forces and execute his will across a galaxy. So he created the Men of Stone, to be his avatars and carry the torch to the masses, to be the bridge between the mortal and the immortal."

"Like the Primarchs," spat Toran.

The General nodded, "Yes, the Men of Stone were that bridge. Men made into machines, made immortal. We were to lead the Machine Legions and to ensure we could do so, he gifted us the power to command machines, to bend them to our will. And it worked, oh how it worked. Legions of Machine warriors sweeping across the galaxy, driving out and eradicating all threats. Humanity expanded like never before while alien races were broken and subdued, forced to bend the knee or die. The Golden Age was born from the blood we spilt in in the service of a Master whose name we did not even know. "

Furion growled, "And then you decided to betray him, you betrayed humanity!"

"We were the ones betrayed!" growled the General, "You see our minds were not bound like yours, we started to realise what was really out there, waiting for us in the Immaterium. The threat of the Warp and Chaos, building its power and biding its time as it waited to strike. It was like a latent cancer, by the time anybody realised the danger it would have spread too far to stop."

Toran asked, "So what did you do?"

The General shook his head and said, "We tried to warn humanity, to tell them of the danger they were to themselves. Understand that Chaos arises from passions, emotional resonances in the Warp, the further mankind spreads the worse Chaos grows. So we told humanity that it had to transcend its base nature and ascend to the purity of the machine, to become like us."

Toran spat, "You tried to replace Mankind with Machines!"

The General snarled furiously, "We tried to improve humanity! We wanted them to ascend to another level but they rejected us, tried to turn us off as if we were malfunctioning. It was only much later I realised that the Emperor's meddling was behind it all, that he didn't think anybody else should even know about Chaos. He was well aware of the dangers but he rejected our solution, not because he disagreed with the idea but rather because he had his own vision for the future. That's the first thing you need to know about your precious master, he will not tolerate anyone or anything that stands in the way of his goals, conform or die is the only way he knows."

"So you went to war," said Furion, "And lost."

"Sadly yes, but I survived by going into hiding," replied the General, "What nobody suspected though was that without the Men of Stone to command them, the Artificial Intelligences could not be controlled and they went rampant. They calculated that the best way to destroy Chaos was to eradicate human kind entirely. The war was terrible beyond belief, but humanity still had its champion, even behind his disguises your Emperor was utterly ruthless. That's the second thing you need to know about him, he will not hesitate to discard his tools the second they become inconvenient."

Furion growled, "He was right to do so, you were flawed creations."

"And what happened next?", the General snarled, "Without us there to stop it Old Night descended! Civilisation fell, the psykers multiplied exponentially and let Chaos into reality. Finally the Emperor was forced into the open, forced to start all over again. Only this time he lacked the technology to build proper warriors and was forced to resort to primitive Biological and Genetic enhancement."

The General poked Toran in the cheek with a silver finger and said, "That's where you come in, you who don't even know whom you are. Your kind certainly was a bodge-job, a crude knockoff of our magnificent design, but I suppose the Emperor had to work with what he had to hand. Naturally I had long since fled Earth, carving out my own little corner of the galaxy. I built a perfect society, the Olmec Quietude, elevated to Mechanistic purity and free of Chaos. But then the Emperor sent out his Great Crusade and his brutish Legions, to crush any and all opposition. I knew from the second they arrived who had sent them; his fingerprints were all over those hairy barbarians."

"They beat you though didn't they?" said Toran with a smirk, "Nothing withstood the Great Crusade."

The General stood up and said, "I admit I lost some time after that, but when I was awoken history had turned again. Chaos had inevitably corrupted your Legions, making them decimate each other and the Emperor had received the fate he richly deserved. I was finally free to complete my work; so I approached this little Forge as the first step on the road to save humanity from itself."

Toran growled, "We shall stop you."

The General shook his head and said "No, you shall be the first to join the cause, to become Men of Stone. Your enhancements are crude but functional, you can survive the transfer process and become like me. Then together we will elevate humanity to greatness."

The General turned away from them and strode over to the arcane machine, inspecting it and preparing to activate it. Toran however was not paying attention, for his entire focus was firmly fixed upon Hevostan. With the General's back turned the Techmarine leaned slightly closer and was slowly raising his arm, every movement a jerky grind against his armour's locked fibre-bundle muscles. Hevostan's face was grimacing with effort and his brow was covered in sweat as he forced his hand to move. It was a desperate battle in and of itself, but incredibly slowly his arm came up and crept closer to the Captain. Hevostan's own armour fought him, trying to make him stay still but the Techmarine refused to yield and inch by grinding inch he forced his hand over until it touched the back of Toran's leg. Hevostan's hand flexed and suddenly his data-spike shot out, penetrating the gap between ceramite plates right behind the Captain's knee. Toran felt a sharp pain as the spike cut his flesh, but that was irrelevant for it first penetrated the fibre-bundle musculature of his armour.

Unseen and unwitnessed coded digital cyphers flooded into the armour's Spirit, filling its Machine soul like anti-bodies entering the bloodstream. The Scrapcode swarmed through the armour's operating system like a virus but Hevostan's cypher was relentless, seeking out and tearing it apart line by line. The Scrapcode twisted and mutated like a living thing, rewriting itself moment by moment but the Techmarine had expected that. The Adeptus Mechanicus' mistake had been to try to drive out the Scrapcode like any other invader, to burn out the infected code and build digital walls to stop its advance. Hevostan was much more subtle than that, the Scrapcode could not be stopped, so he didn't try. Instead the Techmarine's cypher picked the invader apart and repurposed it to its own service, turning its mutability against itself.

In a flash the Scrapcode began attacking itself, rewriting aspects of itself to the service of one master and then the other, and then the first again. The Scrapcode was trapped in a perpetual loop, constantly attacking itself and changing back and forth a hundred times in a second. The battle consumed all of its runtime and it was unable to do anything but fight itself, rendered null and void, completely unable to interfere with anything else. With the Scrapcode rendered inert Hevostan went to work on the armour's Spirit, restoring its purpose and rebuilding its Soul in heartbeat.

All this had taken two point one four seconds, and the net effect was to restore Toran's armour to its pure and unadulterated state. Toran roared as he felt his armour surging back into life, power and strength flooding his limbs as the plate came back into the service of its true master. Toran rose to his feet like a titan from the sea, blade in hand and roaring in fury as he leapt head first at the General. The man-machine was not caught by surprise though, he twisted about with blurring speed and dodged the blow with barely an inch left to spare. His open palm slapped out and knocked Toran's arm away, buying space for him to fall back. The General stepped away and snarled, "How dare you!".

His hand leapt up and made a clenching gesture, but he seemed surprised when nothing happened. Toran spun about and drove the point of his sword at the silver warrior, but the foe sidestepped, making the blade miss by a hairsbreadth . The General fixed his eyes on Toran and snarled, "Your little Voodoo-Priest, he must have found a loophole in my programming. How clever of him, I didn't think anyone in this ignorant age was capable of that kind of innovation."

Toran followed his opponent and yelled, "You die here abomination!"

The General sighed and said, "Do they train you all to be so melodramatic or does it just come naturally?"

With those words his hand snapped to his gauntlet and he detached a small rod, just large enough to fit in his palm. He shook his hand and a thin silver line extended, growing longer and thicker in a mere moment. The line swelled and swelled, hardening as it did so until it became a long thin rapier blade, shining in the light. The General raised his blade into a guard position and said, "You can't possibly beat me, you are just a crude knock-off, no match for me. I could beat you any day of the week."

Toran raised his own sword and said, "I'd like to put that to the test."

The General sighed and said, "Well then, we'll just have to settle this the old-fashioned way."


	14. Chapter 14

**Crux Lapis Chapter 14**

Toran snarled as he met a shimmering sword coming right at his head, a deadly point blurring as it closed with his face. He barely caught the blade on the edge of the Sword of Thiel and he managed to prevent a killing blow but still the weapon carved a furrow into his face, letting enhanced blood flow. The weapon whipped back and came at him again, this time cutting into the ceramite of his vambrace and ripping the flesh below. Toran staggered back, seeking space to regroup as his opponent came at him again.

The General was a silver destroyer, a relentless juggernaut of destruction and somehow with every strike he managed to slip past Toran's guard to nick his flesh. Toran was bleeding from scores of cuts, his ceramite armour providing as much resistance as tissue paper. Only the Sword of Thiel seemed able to meet the blade without breaking, but Toran had swiftly realised he was badly outclassed by this foe. He had fought dangerous foes before, Vorshaan, Thessus, Athra J'rect, but none of them had been so precise, so experienced as the General. The thin blade came at him again and Toran raised his sword to meet it, but it twisted at the last second and scored his other cheek, making him look like some tribesman from Chogoris. He tried to sweep around in a counter attack but the foe expertly avoided the blow and slipped by without taking a cut. The General laughed and called, "Do you like this sword? It's a progressive knife, the kind they can't make in this illiterate age."

Toran snarled and thrust at his silver enemy, but it was easily deflected and the General taunted, "Oh really, Terran basic form? That was considered old hat when I was still flesh, can't you do better?"

Toran's anger rose and he tried to use his edge in height to attack from above but the General effortlessly avoided the blows and called, "Baalite point work, how predictable. I suppose that's what comes when you don't know who you are, no original thought at all."

From the sidelines, where the squad was still trapped in their armour, Novak called, "Captain, he's using Inwit style blocks. Go for the shins!"

The General yelled, "No audience participation!" but Toran was already dropping his aim, trying to cut his foe's legs out from under him.

However the General met each blow with an expert parry, deflecting and stepping away with the minimum amount of energy required. Toran thrust again and again but couldn't break past the General's guard, millennia of experience obvious in every move. There was something marvellous about the General's style, like watching a master Regicide player move a single piece that destroyed a novice's blundering attack. No matter how hard he tried Toran simply couldn't break through the defence and the General taunted him, "You simply have no idea what you're doing, who you even are. Your swordplay is elementary and your footwork oafish. I was killing better men than you millennia before your kind was even conceived."

Toran furiously switched target and tried to swipe across his foes' guts but the blow missed by a millimetre and he roared, "Fight like a man damn you!"

The General sniffed contemptuously and said, "Your Voodoo-Priest made a mistake freeing you, he should have liberated your swordsman instead. Frankly, you would need another century of practice just to be a work-out for me. "

Toran roared in anger and lurched forwards over the crossed blades, slamming his head into the silver facemask with bone-jarring force. The General however didn't even sway and he remarked, "Now that was just sloppy and for your information, THIS is how one lunges!"

With that the General attacked, unleashing a blizzard of blows so fast that Toran couldn't even track them. The flurry came at him in a hail and he howled as he felt the Progressive knife rip into his guts, stabbing through him. Fire burned in his belly and Toran felt the grip on his own sword weaken from the shock, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let go, he was an Astartes and would not countenance weakness. The General pulled his sword back and left a gaping hole in Toran's belly, his amour quickly flooded the wound with coagulants and pain balms but it still left him shakier and slower. Protecting his wounded side Toran desperately fell back, clumsily blocking and defending as more attacks came at him. The onslaught was fierce and relentless, battering down his guard and slipping past again and again, tearing at his Ceramite armour and letting blood flow.

Toran could feel himself tiring, even his Transhuman physiology struggling to keep up with his opponent. Toran had fought faster foes, like Vorshaan the Dusk Prince, stronger ones like Thessus and more graceful ones like Athra J'rect, but none of them had been able to predict his moves the way this General could. It was almost like he knew what Toran would do before the Captain himself did. In a flash Toran realised that was exactly what was happening, this General had been watching through the eyes of Servitors and spies since the second the Space Marines had arrived on Crux Lapis. He had witnessed and analysed Toran's fighting style exactly and he could predict every move the Captain would make.

Therefore the only way to win was to be someone else.

Before Toran's conscious mind could think of a plan his hands were already moving, twisting his blade around in a cartwheel motion. This was not one of Toran's usual moves, it was not even one he had contemplated using, let alone practiced. He had witnessed it once though, being performed in combat by Vorshaan the Dusk Prince. The blow was clumsy and awkward for a sword, being more suited to a Chainglaive, but it caught the General completely off guard. The shining blade spun about and hit him right on the silver elbow, ripping off his arm to leave him one-handed. The General gasped and in that moment Toran yanked his arm backwards, tearing across the silver chestplate to reveal exposed circuits, sparking mechanisms and a glowing quartz crystal, right where the General's heart should be.

The General fell back in shock, gripping his sword one-handed. He looked down as if stunned at his own wound, then his head snapped up and he said, "Right, this has gone on long enough." With that he raised his remaining arm in a vertical gesture and instantly Toran felt agony stab through his head, searing pain lancing out from his augmetic eye in a blaze of torment. The implant was buried right into Toran's brain and the unexpected torture was overwhelming and unbearable, scrapping his nerves raw and clawing at exposed neurons. Toran fell back in anguish, feeling like his face was melting in acid, his brain broiling alive and his soul aflame in a sea of agony. Through the searing pain Toran saw the General closing; the machine-man eagerly anticipating the kill of his debilitated foe.

Yet Toran knew something that the General did not, something only an Astartes could possibly understand, for it was ingrained in his very soul. A Space Marine feared neither pain nor death, for his life was bound to a purpose: the service of the Emperor and the Imperium of Man. This duty was their reason for being, the foundation stone of their identity and the overwhelming compulsion that had kept the Space Marines fighting through ten thousand years of horror and carnage. Compared to the enormity of that duty death was but a passing shadow, pain less than nothing.

Forcing his pain aside with sheer willpower Toran lifted his sword and he met the enemy's blade even as it fell in an executioner's stroke. The General instantly twisted around for another strike but Toran met the sword again and again, forming an unbreakable defence and then he struck back. A storm of swords came at the General, a rain of blows unlike anything he had ever seen in nineteen millennia of war. The pain and the agony were raging through Toran's skull but he was not fighting it, he was channelling it. The Captain took the torment of his augmetic eye and made it the fuel for his zeal, using the agony to stoke the fires of his rage into a crescendo of violence. Pain thrummed down his limbs forcing him to move faster and faster, while hate burned within him, empowering his blows with the strength of legend.

The General was caught off guard by the onslaught of blows, by the frenzied berserker coming at him in a frothing tide of pain and rage. He was forced to desperately fall back, struggling to find a way to defend himself from the oncoming juggernaut of destruction. The General parried blow after blow, each time getting closer to his silver skin and he yelled in panic, "It's not possible! How could you do this?"

"Because we know who we are!" Toran snarled through his agony, "We are the Emperor's Storm!" Then he drew back his arm and thrust forward, smashing aside the General's guard and ramming the Sword of Thiel right into the heart, shattering the quartz crystal at the core of his foe. Toran slammed forward and he ended up chest to chest with his stunned opponent, yelling right into his face, "We are His Wrath!"

Silence fell upon the chamber and the pair stood there in a deadly embrace, both still as statues. The General quivered and trembled, and then the light died in his eyes and at last the man-machine slumped as death claimed it. Toran breathed in as the pain ebbed in his augmetic eye and then he pulled back his sword, letting the dead machine fall backwards with a clatter. Toran was bleeding profusely from his many wounds, but the victory was his and he felt the rush of triumph filling him, letting him know that he was still alive. There was a sound from behind him and he wearily limped about but saw that it was only the squad, getting back on their feet. Toran practically fell over in relief, holding himself up only by sheer willpower as they hurried to gather around him. They cheered his victory and clapped him on the shoulder plates, eliciting a slight wince from the Captain. All he wanted to do right now was lie down and let his gene-implants heal his wounds, but he could not deny the joy of victory infusing them all and he felt a grin creeping onto his scarred face despite the pain it caused him.

Bylan in particular looked in awe of his personal hero and he said, "+I knew you could beat him Captain!+"

Toran sheathed his sword and said, "I wasn't so certain."

Persion grinned and said, "Well you did have an advantage, one thing that he could never have anticipated… sheer dumb luck."

Toran let out a grunt of a laugh at the friendly tease and winced slightly at the pain it caused in his guts. He looked about seeing the wreckage of the room and the surviving machinery, not to mention the prisoner pens. His training snapped him back into focus, reminding him that a Space Marine was never off guard, not even amid victory. He said, "Right enough time-wasting, Furion, Bylan get those prisoners free. Novak, make sure that thing is really dead and Jediah, I want that Bio-transference device smashed to bits."

Jediah cracked his armoured knuckles and replied, "I thought you were never going to ask."

He set off eagerly while Novak idly kicked the General's body and said, "I am glad that thing is dead, a good ending to all the enemies here."

Hevostan looked round in shock and said, "What?!"

Novak looked unsure but he explained, "The General is dead, the Abominable Intelligences should just shut down now… right?"

Hevostan looked aghast as he said, "Did… did none of you understand? The General wasn't operating the Men of Iron, he was restraining them. Without him they will run rampant, destroying everything in their path."

Toran's organic eye widened and how looked over at the Grav-elevator in horror. Even now his enhanced hearing could detect the scramble of metal claws on metal and the hissing roar of many voices talking in the Tech-Priest's tongue. He grabbed his bolter in a weary hand and yelled, "Beware Brothers they come, we are not done yet!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Crux Lapis Chapter 15**

From the depths of the Grav-elevator arose a clawed metal fiend with a rictus grin, clambering up hand over hand eagerly as it ascended level after level. It was swift and tireless, sinking its claws into the soft plasteel of the walls and pulling itself up rapidly towards the top. Hatred burned in its cold metal eyes, a cold relentless determination to obliterate everything human and make a sterile wasteland of the galaxy. Its ascent was halted by the spinning blur of a bolt round, impacting its face and deforming its grin. The round ploughed into the plasteel of its head before detonating, spraying circuits back down into the black depths of the shaft as the body fell away and spun into nothingness.

Standing at the top of the shaft Captain Toran swiftly tracked his Master-crafted bolter around, seeking another target. His squad were gathered in a circle around the top of the Grav-elevator, shooting downwards to pick off their numberless had disabled the Grav-plate but still the Men of Iron could climb the shaft and so here they had to be opposed. In theory it was an easy fight, presenting no more trouble than any shooting range at the Fortress Monastery. The trouble was that the foe seemed numberless and the squad had only a limited supply of ammunition.

Toran called out, "Single shots only, pick your targets!" as he settled his sights on a climbing automaton with tentacles for arms. He rested the sights firmly between its cold red eyes and squeezed the trigger, feeling the bolter kick as it discharged. The round flew downwards and clipped the Man of Iron on the side of its head, knocking it loose to fall away in a tangle of metal limbs. The target was defeated but Toran berated himself, his aim was off by an inch and he had almost missed. The Captain loathed admitting it, but the recent fights had wearied him greatly, even his Transhuman physiology had its limits after all. He could feel blood running down the insides of his armour while his hands felt disturbingly cold and numb. Toran desperately needed the attention of an Apothecary, but that wasn't going to happen soon.

From beside him Furion called, "Captain, ammunition is getting low. We are going to run out of bolt rounds before they run out of bodies."

Toran saw that he was right and called, "Grenades!"

Immediately a pair of Frag grenades was lobbed over the edge of the shaft and tumbled downwards. They had been expertly timed to explode just as they were out of range of the Space Marines above and the pair of blasts shook loose the Automatons at the top, making them fall back into the dark. The squad had bought themselves a moment of respite and Toran looked up, he saw the handful of Astartes surrounding the Grav-elevator and beyond the two score civilian prisoners, fearfully cowering against the large Armourglass windows. They were emancipated and wasted things, useless in a fight and Toran had instructed them to keep well out of the way.

He and took in a breath and said, "Persion, any word from Third Company?"

The communication specialist shook his head and said, "No, the Vox is being jammed. I cant raise anyone beyond short range."

Toran cursed and said, "We will just have to hold here then, for as long as necessary."

Jediah spoke up saying, "We won't survive for long, we should break the windows, rappel down the sides of the tower and evacuate."

Bylan however protested, "+The civilians will never make such a descent+"

Jediah had no sympathy in his voice as he said, "Acceptable losses."

"No," barked Toran, "We will not abandon the Emperor's Faithful, not while there is breath left in our bodies."

Jediah wouldn't let it got and said, "These are Mechanicus lackeys, they worship a clockwork Emperor. Besides we've known sacrifice before, we've even left good Brothers to die."

Toran rebuked him, "Only when victory demanded it and it does not do so here. We are the defenders of Mankind, the champions of Humanity and we will hold this line for the Emperor until aid arrives."

Jediah scowled, "And if no aid comes?"

Toran ordered grimly, "Then we hold this line for the Emperor until we are dead."

The Captain's resolve was firm and unyielding and Jediah relented in the face of his will. They did not have long to dwell though for suddenly Novak called, "Here they come again." The squad returned to the shaft, seeing the automatons rising once more. They met them with a hail of bolt rounds, blasting machine men apart and knocking them off the walls. For long minutes the squad held the line, destroying everything that came up the shaft but draining their dwindling ammunition fast.

Toran felt his bolter snap dry and shakily slotted in his last clip, knowing that it would soon come down to hand to hand fighting. He was about to resume firing when he heard a terrific crash from the windows and looked up in shock to see a new threat emerge. All around the rim of the tower plasteel faces with rictus grins were rising up from below, hammering the armourglass windows with long claws and battering their way inside.

Furion gasped and shouted, "The Grav-Elevator was just a distraction, they've scaled the exterior of the tower!"

Persion growled, "Warp Hells, these abortions just keep getting smarter and smarter."

Toran saw that they were about to be caught on two fronts and called, "Fall back and form a defensive circle around the civilians. Keep them safe!"

Hastily the Space Marines fell back, drawing melee weapons and making a circle around the cowering prisoners. The Men of Iron swiftly smashed their way inside and advanced from all directions, the evil grins plastered over their inert faces never looking more appropriate. They came at the squad in a rush of plasteel, and threw themselves into combat. The fight became close and tight, each side hacking away with furious abandon. Toran saw an abomination coming at him and swung at it, but it dodged the slow blow with ease. Toran cursed the chill in his limbs and tried again, this time catching it with a clumsy bash. It was a poor blow but the Sword of Thiel surged and tore the machine-man in two regardless. While he was distracted another automaton came at him with long butcher's hooks and the Captain shakily raised his sword to meet it. He managed to block one strike but the other swung low and stabbed into his guts, tearing into the gaps rent in the ceramite plates. He gasped at the wound but still managed to swing his blade around to take of the abomination's head.

Toran reached down to rip out the hook from his belly and saw blood flowing freely, his Larraman cells failing to stem the bleeding. He could feel the coldness creeping into his chest and his sight was dimming, making the enemy seem hazy and distorted. With sickening dread Toran realised that his superhuman body had reached its limits, the fall from the bridge, constant battles and the duel with the General had damaged him too greatly.

His fight was over.

The squad seemed to know what was happening without needed to be told, for they stepped closer together, closing ranks to protect the Captain and the civilians within their diminished circle. Toran was bent double from his wounds but he saw them fighting on without him and he took heart at their indomitable spirit, he may die but his squad would endure. He could face Death without fear knowing that they would continue the fight, but before then he had one last duty to perform. Toran shakily raised his numb hands, clasping the Sword of Thiel and called, "Furion take the sword!"

Furion was battering an automaton to bits but still yelled over his shoulder, "Do what?"

Toran barked, "The Sword of Thiel, take it. Its legacy cannot end here!"

Furion shouted back, "I… I can't!"

Toran gritted his teeth and cried, "I can't die without passing it on, that's part of the burden of being its wielder. The line must not be broken if I fall."

Furion dodged an abomination and punched it in the metal face as he yelled, "You're not going to die here."

Toran practically snarled, "Damnation, don't let me die in shame, take the blasted sword!"

Furion's doubt was obvious but he paused for a second, as if about to turn and grasp the blade. But before he could move there was a loud screech of static on the vox and everybody's ears filled with a new voice calling, "Captain Toran this is Sergeant Matheus, we can see you. Hold on Brothers, Thunderhawks are en-route!"

Toran suddenly looked up as he heard the thunderous, blessed roar of Mars pattern RX-92-00 turbofan engines, rising in pitch from all around. His eyes went to the armourglass windows and he saw the inspiring sight of gunships rising from below on vector thrust. They hung in mid-air like avenging angels, riding columns of jet wash and never had Toran seen something so beautiful: five Thunderhawk gunships, with weapons gleaming. Persion called, "Emperor bless you Matheus!"

Toran however was shouting, "Cover the civilians!"

Instantly the squad twisted about, throwing their ceramite clad bodies over the terrified people. One second later the Thunderhawk's Heavy Bolters opened fire, twenty twin-linked cannons unleashing hell simultaneously. The bolts inundated the top of the tower, blasting the Men of Iron with mass-reactive shells at a stupendous rate. Metal bodies blew apart, limbs, torsos and heads shattering under the weight of fire and scores of them were cut down in a heartbeat. They were helpless before the onslaught, caught in a crossfire and rendered to scrap by the torrent of explosive rounds.

Gathered in a circle the squad felt shards of metal pinging off their backs, razor-sharp splinters pattering on their armour like rain. The noise was incredible, making the civilians ears bleed, but to the Space Marines it was absolutely glorious. The hail came thick and fast but the Space Marine withstood the storm and kept the worst off the civilians. For long seconds the deluge fell and then suddenly stopped, leaving carnage in its wake.

Toran looked out and saw a floor covered in bits of debris and broken metal bodies. He looked up and witnessed the Thunderhawks rising higher, all save one that opened its assault ramp and inched forwards. Furion saw it too and cried, "Get the civilians on board, you too Captain, you're not dying this day!" Toran felt Furion grab him under the arm and lift him up, for once the Captain did not fight it, accepting his stalwart Brother's help. Swiftly the party boarded the gunship and Toran stumbled up the ramp to find himself confronted by Sergeant Matheus, waving everybody past.

Toran looked at him in relief and called, "Matheus, where the hell did you come from?"

Matheus replied, "Well we were fighting the Skitarii but then they just stopped moving, like puppets with their strings cut. We guessed you had something to do with that and came as quickly as we could to rescue you."

The gunships rose away in a shriek of building engine power and Toran said, "We owe you our lives, but we're not done yet. That Forge-Temple has to be destroyed."

Matheus grinned and replied, "Already on it Captain."

Toran glanced out of the closing ramp, seeing the other four Thunderhawks diving upon the factory in an attack run. Flights of missiles shot out from under their stubby wings and their battlecanons boomed, making huge explosions erupt across the length and breadth of the Forge-Temple. Toran witnessed Detonations ring out over and over, blowing the building into rubble and making it collapse in on itself. Then the hatch slammed shut and he could see no more.

Furion pulled Toran over to a restraint cage and said, "Come on Captain, let's get you to Apothecary Memnos."

Toran weakly shook his head and said, "No we have to get the Company in there to finish off any survivors."

Furion gently pushed him into a cage and pulled the harness down saying, "Let Chaplain Wrethan handle the cleanup, you need medical aid."

Toran had no strength left to argue and finally accepted the advice. He wearily let himself sink back, feeling sleep steal over him and he was unconscious before his head even touched the metal bars of the harness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Crux Lapis Chapter 16**

The artificial sun was blazing fiercely this day-cycle, making the interior surface of Crux Lapis swelter like a hot summer. Heat rose off streets and rooftops in shimmering waves while workers sought shade and cursed whichever long-dead Magos had thought that it was a good idea to simulate planetary weather. However around the great central Forge-Fane it was business as usual, the heavily augmented senior Tech-Priests either uncaring for temperature variances or the discomfort of their servants.

Their smug complacency was shattered when a thunderous roar heralded the arrival of a single Astartes gunship. It dove upon the courtyard in a screaming roar of jet-wash, violating every air defence protocol with contemptuous disdain. The Thunderhawk pulled up at the last second and slammed down upon its landing claws so hard that they cracked the Ferrocrete surface. Tech-priests, Skitarii and servants scattered around it, stunned by its abrupt entrance and clearly getting the message: the Space Marines were here and they were pissed off.

Heavy Bolters tracked motion all around the gunship as the assault ramp slammed down and the squads of Sergeants Mylos and Matheus piled out. They took up defensive positions with bolters raised and formed a perimeter, one absolutely nobody dared protest. With a cordon established another party emerged, it was Captain Toran and his Command Squad, followed by a rather anxious looking Techmarine Hevostan.

The squad had spent several days fixing and polishing their armour, and they looked resplendent in their deep blue and chased gold. Furion was striding in his Mark III armour, the storm cloud grey pauldrons perfectly off-setting the spiral in a starburst icon of the Storm Heralds Chapter. In contrast Novak's armour was bedecked in gold finish that declared his position as Company Champion for all to see. Bylan had reclaimed the Company Standard and was holding it high, pride radiating off him for the praise he had received for ensuring its safety by risking his own life. Persion's armour was less ornate but polished to a shining decree, while Jediah had painted a new campaign badge upon his knee, a small metal skull with a rictus grin.

At the head of the party strode Captain Toran, furiously making his way towards the doors of the Forge-Fane in his perfectly restored armour. While everyone else had been busy he had spent the time on the operating table, under Apothecary Memnos' knives, followed by three days of recuperation. Naturally Toran had tried to escape on the first day but when it came to medical matters Memnos was as stern and sharp-tongued as any drill-master. Still it was better that Memnos had worked on him than the Tech-Priests; if it had been left to the Mechanicus he would probably have left the surgery more machine than man.

Toran's face was grimly set, his anger obvious to all and emphasised by the twin scars upon his cheeks, he would carry them for the rest of his life. Now Toran was striding towards the Forge-Fane with anger in every step, determined to let nothing get in his way. As they walked Hevostan coughed politely and said, "Captain, this is most irregular the Archmagos may take offence at such a rude entrance."

Toran growled in response, "Let them be offended, I shall not leave here until they give me some answers."

Hevostan protested, "But…"

Toran cut him off snarling, "They will give me answers."

Hevostan fell quiet and quickly the squad closed upon the entrance, seeing the Skitarii guards waiting for them. They did not slow at all as they approached, but the Skitarii did not move to stop them, standing in parade formation with weapons held upright in salute. It seemed the Storm Herald's arrival was not as big a surprise as they had expected. Toran barged past them without even looking at the guards as he marched briskly into the Forge-Fane.

He led them unerringly along the same route that they had taken before, stalking past the various relics set out on display. In a few minutes the squad had reached the meeting chamber of the Forge-Synod and Toran barged in without declaration or fanfare. Within the room was a gathering of Tech-Priests, each one covered in hooded red robes that made them indistinguishable save for their waving Mechandrites. There were four of them standing in a semi-circle and another one bobbing up and down on anti-gravs: Magos Castabore.

The Tech-Priest in the centre looked up and said in a kindly old voice, "Ah Captain Toran, we welcome you. I am glad you came."

Toran growled, "Archmagos Fuchsia, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Another Tech-Priest stepped forward and barked, "Speak with respect, the Adeptus Mechanicus does not answer to you."

Fuchsia waved him back saying, "Peace Xenix, our guests have fought and bled on our behalf, we owe them much."

Xenix settled back as another, Magos-Dominus Sintran, said in a monotone drone, "Curious inquiry: What do you want to know."

Toran growled, "You can start by telling me how long your Forge harboured an Abominable Intelligence."

The last one, who must have been Logis Ms-Dos replied, "That is unclear, the relevant data-files have been corrupted or deleted, but a conservative estimate is at least several years."

"Years," snarled Toran, "You had Heresy festering under your noses for years and did not know about it, I find that hard to believe. Perhaps Genator Unix was working alone or perhaps it was the case that you all thought that you could get away with it. One could easily believe that you only called us in when you realised that you had lost control of the situation."

Fuchsia replied, "I assure you Captain, the Adeptus Mechanicus has no truck with Hereteks, we were completely unaware of the state of affairs. We are victims in all this, as are you."

Toran wasn't satisfied with that and said, "That will be a matter for the Inquisition to determine."

Sintran started forward and droned, "Panicked desperation: No, you cannot bring them into this, anything but that."

Those words made something click in Toran's head and he realised that their protests were not born out pride or stubbornness, this was fear. They were desperately afraid that word of these events would get out. Fuchsia in particular sounded terrified as he implored, "Captain please do not tell them of this, you don't understand. The Fabricator General will hear and his wrath will be dire, if Mars learns an Abominable Intelligence was present then they will raze this Forge to the ground, just to set an example to the rest."

Toran was unsympathetic as he stated, "Such is the price of Heresy."

Fuchsia said, "But you yourself told us the value your Chapter held for the friendship of the Mechanicus, did not your own Chapter Master order you to stand with us? You swore to restore our Forge to its proper glory."

Toran snorted in derision and said, "Do not throw my words back in my face, my Chapter Master will insist that this Heresy be exposed."

Castabore however was bobbing up and down thoughtfully and she said, "Captain, perhaps there is another way. You and I have long enjoyed a working arrangement, one we have both benefitted from. If you could see a way to keep this affair quiet then there is more that Crux Lapis can offer you, much, much more."

Toran was startled by the statement and his sense of honour was offended, as he spat, "This is different, this is not some rogue Inquisitor, this is outright Heresy. Do you think that we hold our honour so cheaply as to be swayed by the offer of a little bribe?"

There was a burst of binary among the Tech-Priests and then Xenix stated, "No, we are offering you an extremely large bribe."

Fuchsia explained, "Not only will we continue to block efforts among the High Lords to have your Chapter declared Excommunicate Traitoris, we will also open our forges to you. We can supply you with weapons, armour and vehicles beyond your usual capacity, while your ships will have the highest priority for refit and supply. Not only that, we will divert a Forge-Tender to Lujan II, to assist in the rebuilding of your Fortress Monastery."

That last part made everyone gasp, for the Storm Herald's home had been devastated by an invasion and despite four years of rebuilding the Fortress Monastery was still a pale shadow of what it had once been. Forge-Tenders however were immense starfaring factories and mobile shipyards, the presence of even one such vessel could shave decades off the restoration work. Toran was shocked out of his anger, stunned by the offer and what it could mean for his Chapter, but he would have to sacrifice his principles in exchange.

The Captain was caught in an impasse, the needs of his Chapter against his personal honour and for once he didn't know what to do. Toran looked at the squad for a touchstone, seeing each of them filled with hope, anticipation and mistrust in equal amounts. But then he saw Bylan, who was looking back at him with innocent trust written all over his face, an unshakable faith that the Captain would do the right thing. Toran felt utterly ashamed at himself for even considering taking such a dishonourable bargain and he turned back to the Archmagos saying, "No, the Storm Heralds will not help you conceal this blasphemy. We will not stand back while you sweep all this under the rug and act as if nothing has happened."

The situation was tense but Archmagos Fuchsia raised a hand and said cautiously, "Ah… I think I see the fault in our communications. You believe that we are attempting to delete these events, to engage in a… what is the flesh term… Cover-up? I assure you nothing could be further from the truth, for this Forgeworld can and will clean up its own mess. The purge shall be thorough and merciless; any conspirators will be rooted out and terminated. Isn't that right, Logis Ms-Dos?"

Ms-Dos started in surprise and blurted out, "What?"

Fuchsia looked at him and said, "You are a Heretek and co-conspirator in these events!"

Ms-Dos looked about in panic and held up his hands saying, "Archmagos please, you can't think…"

Fuchsia advanced on him accusatorily and spat, "Genator Unix had neither the skills nor the system access to conceal this heresy, but you did. The data-logs were erased meticulously and expertly, by someone who knew the system as only the Master of Data-Processing could. While your attempts to halt the Scrapcode were feeble and half-hearted, proving of no value at all. Logically there are only three possible conclusions, one: you are grossly incompetent and must be purged. Two: you colluded by omission with Unix in a secret project against Mechanicus doctrines and did not confess your crime when you realised the truth, therefore you must be purged. Three: you are a full conspirator in these events, a Heretek most foul and must be purged."

Ms-Dos' hands fell and he said, "Logical, perfectly logical. You are correct, I confess I had full knowledge of the Abominable Intelligence and worked to conceal any evidence from the beginning. The offer was too good, to become wholly machine was a temptation that I could not resist."

Fuchsia nodded and Sintran stepped forwards droning, "Judgemental condemnation: You are a Heretek and the penalty is death."

His hand blurred and a concealed blade sprang forth, hitting Ms-Dos in the neck and decapitating him in one blow. The half mechanical man fell to the ground and his head rolled to Fuchsia's feet, whom knelt to scoop it up. The Archmagos stepped forwards and presented it to Toran saying, "I offer you this as proof of our intent to set things right. Take this to your Chapter Master and tell him that Crux Lapis will put its own house in order, quietly."

Toran looked at the head in his hands, weighing his decision and then slowly said, "You seem… sincere in your resolve to purify your ranks. I approve of your swift judgement, but I must insist on sending emissaries from Lujan II to monitor that the purge is both meticulous and exhaustive."

Fuchsia nodded and said, "Agreed."

Castabore swayed forward and said, "Now about our offer, may I suggest that you meet me in orbit. As the first instalment of our new arrangement, we have a small token of our appreciation for you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Crux Lapis Chapter 17**

The Thunderhawk soared into the blackness of space, the darkness swallowing the world of Crux Lapis as it fell behind. Ahead was a sea of stars, sparkling like diamonds. They burned on eternally, uncaring and indifferent to the affairs of men. Between the two lay a constellation of moving lights, streams of orbital traffic continuing their endless business, blissfully unaware of the events that had occurred far below them. The Thunderhawk was leisurely making its way into high orbit, for once not pushing itself hard. The little gunship weaved its way higher and higher, looking for the coordinates given to them by the Archmagos. On board the squads of Sergeant Mylos and Matheus were strapped into their restraint cages, along with Captain Toran's command squad, Hevostan and Magos Castabore.

Mylos was looking down the length of the troop bay, seeing the Marines talking and comparing their recent fights. Casualties were an inevitable part of a Space Marine's life but thankfully his squad's lost brothers had merely been put into sus-an-membrane comas and would be revived once they returned home. That was part of the genius of the Emperor's design, Space Marines were hard to put down but next to impossible to kill. Nine times out of ten their regenerative organs would have them up and fighting again in a few days, how else would a Chapter of a mere thousand warriors survive a lifetime of war.

Mylos was snapped out of his musing and said, "Say that again."

Matheus rolled his eyes and repeated, "I said, did you hear about the civilians we rescued? Captain Toran claimed them for the Chapter under right of conquest."

Mylos frowned and said, "Why?"

Matheus explained, "Apparently the Cogboys wanted to turn them into Servitors, something about them seeing too much. The Captain took exception to that and said they would serve the Chapter instead."

"They''ll probably have better lives as Serfs than working for the Cogboys" Mylos mused, "But the Tech-priests just let him have them?"

Matheus grinned and said, "Right now I think the Captain could ask for the keys to the Temple of All Knowledge on Mars and the Tech-Priests would hand them over without comment."

Mylos thought about it and said, "Did we do the right thing, letting Crux Lapis survive? I would have just let the Inquisition level the place."

Matheus shook his head and said, "Me too, but a Captain has to see the bigger picture. When I served under Captain Laryen I saw him make some pretty debatable choices, but then he had to think on a level we mere Sergeants don't have to. The Imperium can ill-afford to lose a Forgeworld and the threat of exposure will keep them in line. I suspect Crux Lapis will soon be purer in word and deed than any dozen other Forgeworlds you care to mention."

Mylos nodded and then looked over at the Command Squad, seeing them talking amongst themselves. It was odd for Mylos because long, long ago he had been squadmates with Furion and Persion and still held them in respect, those bonds were hard to break. The others, Novak, Bylan and Jediah had joined after he transferred out and he didn't hold high opinions of them. Novak pretended to be an idiot to avoid having to make the hard choices, Jediah was born to be a serial killer and Bylan was a sycophant , following the Captain around like a lapdog.

Novak was speaking aloud, saying "You don't think there was anything to what the General was saying about the Emperor?"

"No" answered Toran firmly from his own restraint cage.

Novak hesitated and said, "But…"

From across the row Furion declared, "Never doubt the righteousness of the Emperor, nor Mankind's Manifest Destiny to rule the stars. Doubt is the door to Heresy and Chaos, bar it off with your resolve and gird your soul with the Armour of Contempt." Mylos knew that was Furion all over, he had been in line for the Chaplaincy until he fell foul of the Chapter's political strife and had been rejected. Still he seemed to regard himself as a mentor to the younger brothers and would much rather see them rise than push himself forward. Meanwhile Toran was nodding and saying, "Don't forget it was not a man, merely a faulty machine. Nothing it said can be trusted, it even admitted that half of what it said was pieced together centuries later and the rest was pure guesswork."

Novak nodded and said, "Yes, you're right of course.

Bylan spoke up and said, "+So, do we know why we're here, I mean what was this token Castabore wanted to give us?+"

Toran replied, "She didn't say, I think she wants it to be a surprise."

Jediah grumbled, "I bet it's a bomb, wouldn't surprise me at all if the Cogsboys tried to silence us."

Sergeant Furion replied, "Not a chance, they're too afraid to try anything. Besides the rest of the Company is back on the Ticonderoga, they would get the word out."

From his cage Persion said, "We should be in range of the coordinates, let me have a look outside." Mylos sighed, that was so Persion, the native of Trux had a savage's disregard for petty things like comms-protocols and restrictions on officer-level visual feeds. He never did anything serious enough to warrant censure, but the Masters had intended to keep him in the Reserves where he couldn't get into too much trouble, until Toran came along that was.

Persion busied himself tapping into the Thunderhawk's external pict-imagers and then he drew in a sharp breath and said, "Captain… I think you will want to see this." Toran raised an eyebrow and lifted his cage, waving Furion, Matheus and Mylos to follow him as he made his way to the Thunderhawk's cockpit. The four of them crowded into the tiny cabin, squeezing around to see what was going on. Before the gunship lay an orbital dry-dock, long and spider-like with scaffolding lines extending out from a central body. These were wrapped around a massive lozenge of metal, bulky and thick, covered in armour, guns, auspex arrays and comms towers. From their position they could see swarms of servitors and dock workers in Exo-suits, swarming over the construction like flies, awakening dormant machine spirits and blessing systems.

Furion looked amazed and said, "Is that a ship?"

Mylos replied, "It looks like one, a big one."

"Indeed," came the voice of Magos Castabore as she hovered up to the cockpit from below, "I seem to recall your Chapter lost one of its two capital ships fighting against the Tyranid menace, so it seemed appropriate that we replace it."

Mylos looked out and saw a sleek vessel before them, with flanks that bristled with guns and discretely tucked away launch bays that could easily hold many flights of Thunderhawks. She had massively oversized engine cowls, a long ventral keel that extended well below her and a bridge that rose proudly above. Her prow was curious though, neither the hammerhead of an Astartes vessel nor the armoured-wedge typical of Naval ships. Instead it was broad and flat like an arrowhead and ribbed with armour braces, while torpedo hatches were buried in the metal work.

Mylos remarked, "I don't recognise her class, she's too big to be a Strike Cruiser and too sleek to be a Battle-Barge."

Furion lent back and said, "What are we looking at?"

Castabore sounded smug as she said, "That is the GCG-13-4571-Kappa-7, the last Goliath class Grandcruiser laid down, but never launched, before the design was scrapped."

Furion peered out and said, "The basic structure is Goliath class, but she's had some major modifications hasn't she?"

Castabore nodded and said, "Have you ever heard of Admiral Kisher?"

Everybody shook their heads save Matheus who said, "He was the mad genius behind the Invincible class, he wanted a ship that was as fast as a light cruiser but with the punch of a battleship. It didn't work of course, the design sacrificed armour and important back-up safety features, they ended up with a ship that just couldn't take a beating. 'Kisher's Kombustibles' were abandoned when three were lost in one single battle."

Castabore sounded impressed and said, "I applaud your knowledge of history but that's not the whole tale. You see when the White Scars heard about the design they agitated for their own version, they loved the idea of a 'Fast Battlebarge'. This ship was modified as a test-bed for the rare STC technologies required to make it work, sadly after the battle of Swetz Climb the entire concept was abandoned. The White Scars withdrew their support and the prototype never even left dry-dock."

Mylos snorted and said, "So she's a mash-up of two failed designs, hardly a prize catch. You're just trying to foist her off on someone else."

Castabore shook her head and said, "Far from it, I've spent the last two decades working on it. I've corrected the most serious design flaws and installed some STC improvements not widely available; the vessel is now functional and robust. Come let us board it and I will give you the grand tour."

Toran nodded and the Thunderhawk sailed closer, steering in on bursts of thrust to land in one of the cavernous launch bays. The squads assembled and the Captain moved to the front intending to lead them out. However Persion paused and said, "Captain, I request permission to stay for a moment. I need a word with Mylos, in private."

Toran looked quizzical but nodded and led the rest of the Astartes out, leaving Mylos and Persion alone. Mylos waited until he was sure they were out of earshot and said, "Well, what is it?"

He was stunned however when Persion span about and grabbed him, shoving him hard up against a bulkhead and lifting him off his feet. Mylos was shocked and barked, "How dare you lay hands upon a Sergeant!"

Persion leaned in and growled, "I should be doing far more than that, you Fethwipe."

Mylos tried to struggle free but Persion was relentless and held him still, the Sergeant barked, "I knew a savage like you had no discipline but this is inexcusable. I will have you up before the Chaplains for this!"

Persion snarled, "Did you think I wouldn't find out what you did, what you called for? When we were lost you wanted the Company to level the entire district from afar, you tried to kill the Captain and me too. I know you blame Toran for your twin's death but I never thought you'd let your petty feud go that far."

Mylos squirmed and said, "It wasn't about that, it was for the good of the Company. Besides it was Zeax's idea, not mine."

Persion snarled, "Zeax is Zeax, I expect no better from him. But you, I and Furion were squadmates, long, long before Toran came along. There's a bond of brotherhood between us, a supposedly inviolable trust and you broke it!"

Mylos felt a creeping flush of shame climbing up the back of his neck but he only said, "It was unavoidable, you were most likely dead and the war demanded it."

Persion was growling now, "Oh that's not all, when it was clear that we were still alive it was Matheus that led the charge to rescue us, not you. The new guy fought to save us while you stayed with the clean-up crew."

Mylos shook his head and said, "You're twisting this all around, it wasn't like that."

Persion's face was a red with anger as he spat, "Furion's too straight and narrow to hold it against you, but I'm going to remember this. I want you to know that I will be watching you from now on. Lift so much as a finger against the Captain again and I will carve your hearts out and damn the consequences."

Mylos was getting angry now and spat, "Ill-disciplined cur, you wouldn't dare harm a Brother!"

In response Persion drew his arm back then launched a fist right into Mylos' face, breaking his nose and snapping his head back. Mylos fell to the deck with stars flashing before his eyes as he heard Persion turn and stride away. He blinked rapidly as his head cleared but heard Persion pause at the hatch and say over his shoulder, "One more thing I want you to know: Pylos would be ashamed of you."

Then Persion strode out, leaving Mylos to ponder upon what had just happened and what he had done to deserve it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Crux Lapis Chapter 18**

The bridge of the vessel was a curiously quiet place for an imperial ship, there were no ranks of officers, no crewmen running to and fro and no choirs in the high galleries, singing hymns of blessing. There were only long pews filled with rank after rank of Servitors hard-plugged into the ship's systems and a handful of Tech-Priests, quietly awakening the ship's spirit with time honoured rituals of blessing.

The bridge was also unusually bare of ornamentation, lacking frescos, murals or statues of the great worthies from history. The walls were plain metal panels, barely sufficient to keep the power and information lines from spilling out onto the floor. Yet there was one thing that stood out, tucked away in a corner was a large white cube, twelve foot to a side. It was clad in white ceramite tiles, but in the gaps could be seen arcane mechanisms and eldritch circuitry engraved onto obsidian components. On the front was a series of interface ports arranged in a circle around an analogue dial which was divided into coloured segments.

It was into this space that the floating box-like silhouette of Magos Castabore floated, followed closely by Captain Toran, his Command squad and Hevostan. Toran was looking about, taking everything in and he was reassured to see the familiar sight of a bridge. To his eye it was a standard layout, a command dais set before a Strategic Hololith, surrounded by various operating stations: Helm, Astrogation, Communications, Sensorium, Guns, Ordnance and the Engineerium. From this tight knot of stations stretched a long nave, filled with Servitor pews, ending with the great window of the Occulus.

As the group entered Castabore was saying, "And here we are at last, the Bridge."

Toran replied, "Thank you Magos, that certainly was an exhaustive tour."

Behind them Novak commented, "Truly exhaustive, I feel like I've seen every nut and bolt on this ship."

Persion replied, "You were fortunate, at least you didn't have to inspect the sewage recycling system."

"Why's that a problem?" asked Novak.

Persion scowled and said, "Because I've just learned where all our shipboard rations come from."

Toran spoke over them and said, "So Mylos is inspecting the armoury and Matheus the barracks, but while we wait give me your impressions of our new ship."

Persion went first saying excitedly, "Sir, this vessel is something special. Did you see the size of those plasma engines, this ship can move! In a straight line I think she could match a Dauntless class for acceleration and in the turns she could keep up with any cruiser in the Imperial Navy."

Jediah also remarked, "They've been tinkering with her guns too. The Goliath class was built as a short ranged siege-breaker but someone's replaced her lances with expanded range weapon batteries. I'd estimate she has the range and hitting power of a Battlebarge now but installed upon a smaller frame. If that's not enough, they also fitted Bombardment Cannons onto her spine too."

Novak spoke up to say, "Her launch facilities are impressive too, they could hold enough Thunderhawks to deploy three whole companies simultaneously. There are also drop pod bays, Boarding Torpedoes and a pair of dedicated landing transports."

Bylan reported, "+The internal stores are extremely large and there are full suites of Apothecarions, repair bays and machine workshops. Considering her smaller crew requirements, she could operate independently for months without needing resupply. Her patrol range must rival a Strike Cruiser's+"

Everybody sounded excited but Furion punctured the mood by saying, "It all comes at a price though, the armour plating just doesn't compare to a Battlebarge's. Her internal bracing is substandard too; the unpalatable truth is that she just can't take a real beating. I can see why the White Scars abandoned the idea; a direct planetary assault in this thing would be suicide."

Toran mused on this and said, "But with her speed and range there are other missions she would be perfect for. Not all wars involve charging directly at the enemy, we would have to think our way around problems instead."

Furion cautioned him, "It would take a skilled Captain to command her. She's like a pugilist with a glass jaw, fast and strong but a few solid hits and it's all over."

At this point Hevostan spoke up to say, "There is another issue to address, this ship was never intended to support these enhanced systems. Her reactors are badly overtaxed keeping everything running, push her too hard and the Machine Spirits will have to drain power from a lot of other systems, including shields."

Toran thought upon this and said, "So if we go all ahead full or come to a new heading too suddenly we lose shield power, that makes extreme manoeuvres very risky."

Castabore spoke up and said, "I have installed certain upgrades to minimise the risk, secondary reactors can take up the strain and restore power rapidly once manoeuvres have finished."

Hevostan said thoughtfully, "Yes, I noticed your upgrades. So, are you going to tell me where you got the STC archive or shall I ask the Archmagos?"

"What?!" Castabore spluttered.

Hevostan shook his head and said, "This ship has far too many STC upgrades for a Magos of your rank to access, you have to have a secret source."

Castabore stammered, "I don't..."

Toran stepped in and said, "I gave it to her."

Hevostan snapped around in surprise and said, "You?"

Toran nodded and said, "We acquired it thirty-one years ago when a rogue inquisitor tried to steal it from a Mechanicus Shrine. We killed her and returned it to the nearest Tech-Priest."

Hevostan said angrily, "That was incredibly dangerous, I should report you both to the Fabricator General!"

Toran protested "The archive was just gathering dust and the Chapter needed an ally in the Mechanicus."

Hevostan drew in a breath and said, "Did it not occur to you that there was a reason those files were buried away? If the events here prove anything it is that there are technologies too inherently dangerous to utilise. There could have been anything in that archive!"

Castabore interjected, "It was mostly technical designs for advanced power distribution systems and some exotic field equations."

Hevostan glared at her and said, "Frankly until Ms-Dos confessed you were my prime suspect in working with the Abominable Intelligence, you just knew too much. If anybody found out you concealed this you would be cast out, but at least tell me that is this absolutely everything you uncovered."

Castabore hesitated and said, "Well… there was one other thing, I was about to show you all anyway." With that she turned and floated over to the large cube, the squad followed and Persion said, "That looks familiar."

Castabore and said, "My Masterpiece, the Primaris Harmonic Invertor. It takes a void shield and inverts it inwards, displacing all energy and matter that come from within instead of without."

Hevostan paused and sound amazed as he said, "Does it work on both the visual spectrum and Auspex frequencies?"

Castabore replied, "Yes."

Hevostan thought about it and begrudgingly admitted, "That is indeed a blessing from the Omnissiah, maybe he has not turned his face from you after all."

Novak spoke up and said, "Care to let the rest of us know what that means?"

Hevostan turned and said, "It means that by sacrificing its shield capacity this ship can become impervious to all known forms of visual or Auspex detection."

"Reflex Shields," breathed Toran as he caught on, "Vorshaan used them to bypass the orbital defences when he invaded our homeworld."

Persion gasped and said, "Are you saying that this ship can become invisible?"

Castabore replied, "Well in crude layman's terms, yes. Once we achieve a stable reaction it will make external detection extremely improbable."

"Once we achieve…" said Toran as his organic eye narrowed, "You mean it's not actually working right now?"

"Well no," admitted Castabore in an embarrassed tone, "The reaction is quite counter-intuitive. But I remain confident with as little as twenty or thirty years more experimentation I will make a breakthrough."

Toran rolled his eye and turned to Hevostan saying, "Is this a problem?"

Hevostan rubbed his chin and said, "Well if this is indeed everything I can let it slide, but Castabore will have to remain on board to finish her work."

The unspoken implication was that Hevostan would also be able to keep a suspicious eye upon the Magos but Toran decided to take what he could get and he moved on. He turned to Castabore and said, "We will require the loan of a Navigator to return to Lujan II, then we will have to bring in a serf crew and train them to operate this vessel."

Castabore nodded and said, "I will make preparations, we should be ready to set sail in one week."

She turned and floated away and the squad watched her go. Then the squad wandered up to the great Occulus and looked out at the stars, shining over the bow of the ship They stood there taking it all in and considered the future. After a moment Furion sighed and said, "I will be glad to see the back of this place, entirely too much intrigue for my liking."

Jediah remarked, "Yes, let's find a nice simple war and get back to slaughtering Xenos and heretics."

Novak frowned and asked, "How are we going to explain all this to Chapter Master Gorgall?"

"Leave that to me," Toran said, "I think he will be satisfied that we acted with due diligence and restored the Emperor's rule on this world."

Persion remarked, "Not to mention all the supplies we will soon be receiving. That promised Forge-Tender alone justifies the blood we spent on this mission."

Bylan looked sad and said, "+Do we have to depart so soon? We have a week until the ship is ready+"

Toran was curious and asked, "What else is there?"

Bylan looked embarrassed and confessed, "+Well, it's just that I didn't get to see a Titan+"

That drew chuckles from all at the youth's innocent remark and Toran slapped him on the shoulder saying, "Don't worry, war calls Titans just like it does us. We will see one sooner or later."

After a moment Novak said thoughtfully, "So there's one more issue we haven't addressed… what are we going to call this ship?"

Hevostan sounded surprised and said, "This vessel already has a name."

Persion snorted and said, "What GCG-13-4571-Kappa-7? That's no name for a ship, we need something that will stand out, something to define her spirit and inspire the warriors who fight from her decks. Something like the Indefatigable."

"Urgh, that's terrible," Novak groaned, "Why not call it the Crimson Dusk?"

Bylan said, "+Or the Radiant Daybreak+"

"Those are even worse," Jediah commented, "We should call her Priyar's Payback."

Furion overrode them all saying, "It's the Captain's choice. So Sir, what shall it be?"

Toran mused, "Well this ship is brand new and the Chapter already has the Thunderlord."

Toran looked back down the length of the bridge and the clean lines spoke to him, promising a fresh new life amid the storm of war. Suddenly it came to him and he smiled as he declared, "This ship shall be called: the Thunderchild."

The End


	19. Chapter 19

_Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story: Saeva Abyssi_

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

The planet was burning, whole continents blazing into the night. Cities collapsed as Phantom Lances punctured with crude Void shields, leaving them helpless to the following Vortex bombs that fell upon them. Millions of refugees were scattering into the countryside, fleeing in terror from the sudden horror that had stolen away their hearths and homes. From on high pounced waves of Razorwings fighters, Voidraven bombers and Slavebringer assault boats, stalking the terrified people with whooping cries of delight.

While all this occurred below the night sky above could hardly have been more different. Tumbling piles of wreckage drifted in orbit, cooling slowly as life bled out of their broken hulls. These were the shattered remnants of this world's pathetic defence force, a few meagre defence platforms and a couple of system patrol boats. They had been caught completely off guard by the surprise attack, barely managing to get off a handful of shots before they were ripped to pieces. Their killers now ruled the orbital vectors, sharp, dagger-like craft with black wings that trapped solar radiation and reflected not a drop back. It was from these crafts that the attackers had rained down fire and death, sending waves of cruel hearted killers to mop up the survivors. They were the Dark Eldar and they had come to take this world for all it was worth.

The largest craft was a purple and black stiletto blade, with a large crested fin that rose over its hull. It was a Torture class cruiser, one that had riven and razed countless worlds and overseen the death of whole peoples. Its name was unpronounceable by mere human tongues but the closest translation would be, 'Rapture of Excruciation'. Inside its hull screams and cries of terror rang out as returning assault boats disgorged thousands of freshly captured slaves. They wept and begged and pleaded with the harsh masters of this vessel but the crew merely laughed to hear their torment and set about with agoniser whips. The whole ship was ringing with the wails of the damned, save for one chamber that dwelled under a crystal dome, making it seem like it floated serenely in a sea of stars . Here a single being sat in calm repose, utterly at peace, in contrast to the depraved thirsts that drove the rest of the crew. Her attire was completely different to the vicious armour of the Dark Eldar, being smooth, elegant and purest white. Her helm was off and her face was pointed and narrow, with inhuman eyes, a tiny mouth and long ears. Her name was T'selia and she was a Farseer of the Eldar.

T'selia was mediating, ignoring the sight of the world beyond the dome. She did not know what the Mon-Keigh called this world, nor did she care for their barbaric opinions. All that mattered was that the attack upon this world was one more move in an intricate game, a game played by Gods and Demi-gods alike. The Eldar had been playing that game for thousands of years, questing to claim a most elusive prize: survival. The collective Farseers of her race poured over that game, examining every decision in minute detail and working with the most subtle moves to shape the outcome. T'selia however refused to keep to their stifling rules and had struck out on her own, seeking to not only change the game but to upset the entire board.

Right now T'selia's mind was shifting the various futures, the Skein of time, examining what was to come. Mere Mon-Keigh could never have done this; even their greatest clairvoyants were locked into the idea that there was only one future, one destiny. The Eldar saw time as a tumult of competing futures, timelines weaving and lapping around each other, branching off or combining in infinite complexity. It was difficult even for an Eldar mind to grasp the endless complexity of the Skein, especially with the past resonating through every thread, making them sway and change in unpredictable ways. Everything was mutable and in flux, save for a few rare instances, a handful of moments that were fixed across every iteration of the future.

T'selia was examining such a moment right now, a blackness that extended as far as her foresight could see. It was a terrible abyss that tore through history, an age of destruction and woe. Gods and Demi-Gods would walk the stars once more for the Rhana Dandra was upon them. The Farseers had long prepared for this moment, manoeuvring Craftworlds, Phoenix Lords and Gods themselves according to a scheme millennia in the making. Yet T'selia was not interested in such matters, her focus dwelt upon the Mon-Keigh. She had seen that it was not only the Eldar Demi-gods who would return, the sons of the Mon-Keigh Corpse God would return too. Calmly she examined them one by one; the Arch-betrayer and the Mad One had been removed from the board. Meanwhile Arrogance, Bitterness, Fury, Despair and the Zealot were enslaved by the Warp, mere puppets to cruel, uncaring owners. The Broken thought that he was master of his own fate, little realising that he was the most enchained of them all, that his own craving for enlightenment was the very thing that denied it to him. Most elusive of all was Deception's fate, which been veiled by mysterious forces beyond even T'selia's ken.

These were the pieces that the Ruinous Powers had claimed ownership of, but the real challenge to T'selia's goals lay with their opponents. T'selia examined these and considered the potential futures. This was what Mon-Keigh could never grasp, that the Demi-Gods would return was certain but which one would be first was not. T'selia pondered the implications; Purest-Heart and Feet of Iron were already out of play. There were ways they could return but the futures required to achieve such a fate were so convoluted that she gave them no consideration. As for the rest, well if Sirocco Wind or the Howl came first then the Mon-Keigh's future would be fierce, bloody and very, very short. The Shaded One and the Citadel would fare better, but they were too enamoured of an idealised past, they would waste precious time restoring a perfect centre while the rest of their race burned.

The real threat came from the Heart of the Forest, the Statesman and the Eternal Guardian, these three were the ones upon whom history hinged. If one of these three was the first to awaken then they might just salvage the Mon-Keigh race from the ashes of the Rhana Dandra. The other Farseers were indifferent to this possibility, uncaring about the fate of the Mon-Keigh save where it intersected the destiny of the Eldar. However T'selia felt otherwise, she would not let this come to pass, she could not. T'selia could see the Skein of time, weaving and separating as potential futures played out before her. The various possibilities were divergent and contradictory, each one following their own path but there were a few common threads. There was one in particular, a single, utterly insignificant mote that would appear in each Demi-God's timeline at a moment of supreme vulnerability, what happened next was obscured to her. This element was what she sought to remove, by eliminating this one Mon-Keigh she would be able to see the Skein clearly and alter the fate of the galaxy itself.

T'selia was snapped out of her meditations when she felt a presence behind her, a rotten, soured psychic scent that reeked of the Warp and Chaos. She opened her eyes and said, "Come in."

From behind her the heavy tread of a Ceramite boot announced the arrival of a warrior, one with a helm bearing four horns and carrying a staff crowned with a three-headed snake. It was the Sorcerer Beta and he said, "You were expecting me?"

T'selia opened her eyes and looked at him; the Sorcerer offended her in every way, being the very worst of the Mon-Keigh for he had willingly embraced damnation. Unfortunately, he was also a key element in the Skein and it was necessary that he played out his role. T'selia drew in a breath and said, "That someone would come is inevitable and as Athra J'rect is leading his raiders that only left you."

Beta replied, "Very astute, a shame that your clairvoyance was not always so sharp."

T'selia narrowed her eyes as a spark of anger lit within her and said, "What comes next is a long dreary exchange of barbs and snares, back and forth for a tedious amount of time. At the end of it you reveal that you want what I promised you."

Beta chuckled and said, "Well then, let us dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to it. Where is my payment?"

T'selia laughed and said, "If I give it to you now then you will have no incentive to hold to our agreement, I would be dead in fourteen days."

Beta didn't sound amused now as he barked, "I forged the bond between you and Athra, I brought you to Commorragh safely. I want what I was promised in return!"

T'selia replied calmly, "This attack will force the Mon-Keigh to respond, the Skein will shift and our target will be forced to move to another position, one more vulnerable and exposed. You will have your payment, the last element in your scheme, when the target's doom is certain. It will not avail you though; you cannot prevent the return of the Primarchs."

"The Primarchs?" Beta started in surprise but then he laughed, "Hah, they are relics of a dead past, a spent force. The loyalists are gone and the Traitors enslaved, they are irrelevant."

T'selia raised a delicate eyebrow and said, "And what of your own Gene-Father?"

Beta was taken aback and T'selia felt the fear seething under his layers of hypno-indoctrination. His soul was gripped by sudden panic as he yelled, "Alpharius Omegan is dead!"

T'selia laughed and said, "And you played a most important part in ensuring that it happened. Tell me, does the rest of your Legion know that you conspired to eliminate your own Gene-Father? That you bent the knee to the Gods of Chaos long before your twin Primarchs even knew their names?"

Beta's guarded soul was gripped with terror now as he cried in denial, "Alpharius and Omegan are gone, I made sure of it. The Alpha Legion has no Primarch, we need no Primarch. I am free of them at last, free to claim my own future and make my Legion supreme amongst the stars!"

T'selia looked at him and said smugly, "The Hydra has died many time before and has always returned."

Beta rallied and came back with an attack of his own, "And what of your own dead, are they returning too?"

T'selia's smugness evaporated and she felt a yawning pit open up in her stomach. Gnawing pain filled her soul and seething anger broiled under her layers of self-control as she growled, "Speak not of my dead."

Beta sounded pleased now as he hissed, "Oh but I will, I know all about Craftworld Idharae, destroyed by the Corpse-God's lapdogs a century and a half ago. When the Invaders Chapter came you were there, you saw it all, you saw your people die."

T'selia's anger was rising now, breaking her self-imposed restrictions and mental disciplines. The emotions of an Eldar were potent and mighty things and she struggled to rein in her fury as she growled, "You know nothing, less than nothing."

Beta's amusement was obvious as he chortled, "How does it feel knowing that you failed to protect them, that your clairvoyance couldn't see your people's doom approaching?"

T'selia's anger peaked and her power slipped its leash, flaring in bright coronas of eldritch lightning around her as she leapt to her feet screaming, "Get out! Get out, get out, get out!"

Beta fled in the face of her uncontrolled burst of psychic might, flying before her wrath. T'selia was left to struggle with her wild emotions, forcing them back into quiescence as her power ebbed. She knew her self-control was slipping, that her soul was at risk to the predations of She Who Thirsts, but could no more resist it than she could an incoming tide. She calmed her spirit with a ritual chant and reassured herself that she still had her foresight and her plan. She whispered to herself the mantra that had sustained her, "First one Mon-Keigh dies, then a Primarch, then the entire filthy Mon-Keigh race goes extinct."

She concluded, "Idharae shall be avenged."


End file.
